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mS Fe 
ORNS 
re 7 


GENERAL PHIL SHERIDAN 


As I Knew Him, 


Playmate - Comrade - Friend 


eee 


By CAPTAIN H. C. GREINER 


BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO 
J. S. HYLAND AND COMPANY 
1908 


Copyright 1908, 


. HYLAND & COMPANY, _ 


Chicago. 


a 
a SeRLAMNS 


hee 


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4) 
a 


Aug 1.8 1956 ~*~“ 


Dedicated 


TO THE YOUTH OF OUR COUNTRY 
WHO ARE STRUGGLING 
FOR A PLACE IN THE RANKS OF 
THE NATION’S GREAT AND 
CHIVALROUS MEN. 


—CapTaiIn Henry C, GREINER. 


In HMemoriam 


Captain Henry C. Greiner departed this life at his 
late home in Chicago Lawn, June 12, 1908, aged 
eighty-one years. Captain Greiner, the day before 
his death, laid down his pen, having finished this book, 
which had been a life study. 


By his years of labor this Nation has become en- 
riched . . . Whole-souled, brave, noble, his hand was 
ever servant to his heart . . . His spirit passed silently 
through the portals of the tomb, seeking its Creator. 


Now this task of love at an end, 
His soul joins its Playmate-Comrade-Friend. 


PUBLISHERS. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER? 


Notable Historic Persons and Warlike Scenes in Somerset, Ohio— 
Somerset Before It Was Honored by the Name of Sheridan— 
Great Men Like William Henry Harrison and Henry Clay Spoke 
From the Rostrum of the Somerset Court House—The Immortal 
“J. N.” and Other Quaint Characters—MacGahan Created a Na- 

[BA 0)a 0 eR ped SFY ARCS 6b Raye Se ae pi taecaeer SE Wee ane a ett Mag eb er ace sone aR 11 
CHAPTER II. 

Would Not Shake Hands With the Vice-President—Juvenile Shows 
—In a Bad Box—Refuses the Offer of A. T. Stewart, the 
BPC ADEM TICE fats rece eo ora ae owe eee Sree Ee 8 ee eh Chay eehe ben ee 24 

CHAPTER III. 
Billy Jones’ Early Diplomacy—Boys’ Fun—Phil’s Kindness to My 


Dog—The Only Time That Phil Ever Surrendered................ 34 
CHAPTER IV. 
Schools and Teachers of Fifty Years Ago—Phil Sheridan Chased 
by the Old Master—Blackboard and Anti-Blackboard............... 40 
CHAPTER V. 


Phil Sheridan Not a Quarrelsome Nor a Fighting Boy—The Vil- 
lage Store—Promotions as Clerk—How Phil Caught the Martial 
Fever During the Mexican War—His Appointment to West Point. .50 


CHAPTER: VI. 
Phil Home From West Point—Kindness to a Dog—On the Frontier 
—Fighting Indians—Complimented by General Scott............... 67 


CHAPTER VII. 

The War Clouds Darken—Volunteering—General Sheridan’s Return 
—Volunteers’ Goodbye—Camp Chase—Cincinnati—Kentucky— 
Camp Dick Robinson—General Sherman—East Tennesseeans....... 75 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Christmas Recollections—The Soldier’s Dream—A Brave Union 


Woman—Evil Effects of Merritt’s Peach Brandy................. 100 
CHAPTER IX. 
Yankee Tricks—Polite Sergeant Occupying Churches—Somerset, Ken- 
tucky—Our Scout and Spy—Hudson’s Ford—Mill Springs......... 114 
CHAPTER X. 


Crossing the Cumberland—General Thomas—On to Nashville—Death 
by Drowning—Tying Soldiers—Shiloh............. cece eee eeeees 134 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XI. 
Leaving Company G—How the Dutch Were Fooled—My First Loss 
in the New Company—Louisville Legion—Panic.................- 145 


CHAPTER XII. 
The Hermitage—“Where Is the Regiment, Doctor?”—The Call of 
the Bugle a Benediction and. an ‘Inspiration...........<..¢25 eee 187 


CHAPTER XIII. 
Buell Leaving Louisville—Battle of Perryville—A Mule Looking at 
the Battlk—Deadly Effect of Sheridan’s Artillery................. 201 


CHAPTER: XIV; 
Pen Picture of Sheridan—His Great Tact—How He Enraged the 
Michigan Boys—How the Boy of Sixteen Got to the Front........ 230 


CHAPTER XV. 
Colonel Mulligan’s Death—The Virginia Girl on the Pike—Driven 
Out of Martinsburg—Lieutenant Martin..............0ccevecccees 269 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Old John Brown’s Home—The Wounded at the Homestead—Driven 

Again—Phil Sheridan Coming to the Valley..............6..-000% 293 
CHAPTER XVII. 

The Heroic Verse of Mr. Read, ‘“Sheridan’s Ride’—Echoes at Phil’s 

Home of ‘the Battle “Twenty Miles Away”. io. 020. .o. 3. eee 319 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
BATTLE OF WINCHESTER. 

Won on the Information of a Girl—Letter of Mrs. Bonsal, Then 
Miss Rebecca I. Wright, to General Sheridan—A Touching In- 
cident ‘at Cedar Greekiiiier says oc cco ee te hee eh ee 325 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Return Home—Meeting With Phil’s Father—“‘A Joy Shared Is a 

Joy Doubled”—A Little Lass Presents the Buckeye to the Hero...340 
CHAPTER: XX: 

Formal Reception to General Sheridan—“I Promised Mother I Would 
Be Home to Dinner. I Must Not Disappoint Her”’—Memories 
of: Childhood: Days. ence uci oe ieee ee 368 

CHAPTER XXI. 
Meeting a Veteran—The General Amused at “Nick’s” Description...... 373 
CHAPTER XXII. 

Parents of General Sheridan—A Fighting Tribute for a Noble Little 

Woman, Who Gave All Her Sons to Their Country......... een 387 
CHAPTER XXIII. : 

Colonel John Schuyler Crosby—Sheridan’s Disposition—Had the Tem- 
per of a Robust Man—Had the Force of a Giant and the Tender- 
ness Of a“ Woman. 4) vo. a (elbe vie #1, esWnrts An ants eee 409 


PREFACE. 


If asked why these Memories of General Phil Sheridan had 
been written, I should answer: “To remove erroneous impres- 
sions.” Since leaving Ohio I find such impressions quite 
prevalent. As children, Phil and I were playmates and com- 
rades, and later I was for many years his agent and repre- 
sentative; therefore, my opportunity of obtaining an insight 
into his traits and characteristics was abundant. That others 
may know him as I knew him is the principal aim of this book. 
I might add also, it affords me an opportunity to atone for 
the thrashings I unintentionally brought upon both of us 
from the pioneer masters, McNanly and Thorn. 

The rising generation, no doubt, may be interested in the 
early life and true character of the brainiest fighter and great- 
est battle tactician on either side of our great war. I find 
that many believe Sheridan was cruel, hard-hearted and loved 
war and its savagery, but I know he was kind and gentle of 
heart. On several occasions I sought to correct these wrong 
impressions, when the accusing party would point to his un- 
necessary devastation of the beautiful Shenandoah Valley, 
where Sheridan seemed to revel in destruction. The accuser 
was not aware that this was done in obedience to an order 
from General Grant, whom, I am sure, no one would accuse of 
cruelty. It was a wise and merciful order to destroy what 
an enemy. subsisted upon, as it brought peace more speedily 
than the destruction of human life. 

Others have said that he loved war rather than peace, and, 
in evidence, reminded me of his eagerness to fight the French 
who occupied Mexico under the ill-fated Maximilian. They 
claimed that General Lee had scarcely sheathed the sword 
that General Grant so generously returned to him at Appo- 
mattox, when Sheridan flew so hastily to another field prom- 
ising blood and battle, that he did not remain North suffi- 
ciently long to take part in that grand parade down Pennsyl- 

7 


vania Avenue, where he could have ridden proudly at the 
head of his ten thousand cavalry, whose sabres were burnished 
with the lustre of so many brilliant victories; but refusing 
all these attractions, he hurried South. A moment’s reflection 
will show the injustice of this charge. It was one of the chief 
desires of Sheridan’s life to witness and participate in the great 
review, following victory. 

At that time Grant was commander of all the armies. 
Sheridan could not move to the Mexican boundary without 
Grant’s order. Grant, of his own motion, could not have sent 
Sheridan. The order was directed by the Administration. 

Our government, during the war of the rebellion, had to 
endure threats and insults which it would not bear for a 
minute after domestic peace was secured. The English pro- 
fessed hostility to slavery, but sold weapons and munitions 
of war and supplies of every character to the States fighting 
to maintain slavery. Louis Napoleon put his poor dupe on a 
throne supported by bayonets in Mexico. Between England 
and Napoleon the Third, the Republic was to be overthrown 
and divided and the Monroe Doctrine forever stamped out. 
The sending of Sheridan to Texas was a National policy— 
not one of Sheridan’s—and was the first act in the movement 
to notify the world that our western continent was dedicated 
to liberty and freedom and could never become a mere series 
of colonial possessions for rotten European tyrannies. 

I do not deny that Sheridan was as eager as his govern- 
ment that the French, sent by Napoleon, the fraud, and their 
Austrian allies, should be driven from the continent and hu- 
miliated for tramping upon the Monroe Doctrine, while we 
were struggling for National existence. I know they regarded 
this Napoleon as a cheap, double-dealing coward, and were 
determined when their hands should be free, to resent the 
cowardly insult offered us, but it was the government which 
said: “Go at once.” 

If, therefore, my testimony were held back longer, it might 
be too late, and I would be guilty of suppressing the truth, 
and should we meet on the other shore with this plain state- 
ment of facts left unwritten, ic might ask me why I had not 
done my duty. 

8 


With some it will be difficult to remove the impression 
that he was cold, cruel and relentless, but I know that his sym- 
pathies when a boy were always with the weak, underdog, 
and I know also that in this respect he never changed. I do 
not claim that during that long, bitter struggle (the Civil 
War) he was a lamb—he could not be that and do his duty 
as a soldier. During the ten years prior to his death that I 
was his agent, many incidents occurred that impressed me 
with the fact that he was as humane and tender-hearted as 
when we played together. 

I shall chronicle occurrences of pioneer and volunteer life 
that will, I hope, amuse and interest the reader. I disclaim 
a history of General Sheridan’s military operations—I am not 
competent to deal with that, even had I time and space. A 
few instances of battles may appear which are characteristic 
of his military genius. If there should be errors in my state- 
ments, I hope to be pardoned. In looking back through the 
spectacles of forty years, I find them dimmed. I depend 
largely upon an old diary, almost illegible, and shall also make 
quotations from an old scrap book. In these quotations proper 
credit cannot, in all cases, be given to the authors, as I copied 
their words without the least idea that they should ever be 
quoted. I point to General Sheridan as a guiding star for the 
young men of our country; as an example of patriotism, brav- 
ery, humaneness, filial affection and purity of character, and 
if I can remove the false impressions regarding him, shall 
feel well rewarded. As to the labor—it is one of love. 

Since living here, in what General Sheridan often told me 
was his favorite city, it has often occurred to me as passing 
strange that Chicago could boast of no visible tribute to this 
brave soldier commensurate with his great services, surpass- 


ing valor and peerless genius. 
THE AUTHOR. 


J 3 G 3. 


CHARTER T. 


NOTABLE HISTORIC PERSONS AND WARLIKE SCENES IN SOMER- 
SET, OHIO—SOMERSET BEFORE IT WAS HONORED BY THE 
NAME OF SHERIDAN—GREAT MEN LIKE WILLIAM HENRY 
HARRISON AND HENRY CLAY SPOKE FROM THE ROSTRUM 
OF THE SOMERSET COURT HOUSE—THE IMMORTAL “J. N.” 
AND OTHER QUAINT CHARACTERS—-MAC GAH'AN CREATED 
A NATION BY HIS PENCIL. 


“Tt is true the smallest hamlet or obscurest village is large enough 
to contain the grandest human emotions.” 


OMERSET is a quiet, old-fashioned place in south- 
eastern Ohio, containing a population of from twelve 
to fourteen hundred people. For over fifty years the 

exact number has been fluctuating between these two figures. 

The history of the village before it was honored by a name 
is associated with notable historic persons and warlike scenes. 
In the early summer of 1797 the Duke of Orleans (afterwards 
King Louis Philip of France) and his two brothers followed 
on horseback the line marked out by Washington, beginning 
at Mount Vernon, leading north to Harpers Ferry, thence 
along the mountain range to Tennessee, from here again north 
to Maysville, Ky., across the Ohio river to Chillicothe, thence to 
Lancaster, through what was, in time, to be Somerset, to Zanes- 
ville, and from there east to New York. They were poorly 
mounted, poorly clad, almost destitute of means. This was 
when destiny was cruelly drifting the three brothers, Duke of 
Orleans, Count de Montpensier and Count Beaujolais, about 
to avoid the guillotine. 

Somerset is built on a high ridge, the general direction of 

11 


12 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


which is south. This ridge divides the waters of the Hocking 
and Muskingum rivers, equi-distant about twenty miles, and 
its highest point takes in the Court House square. 

The main street of the town is built on the line of the 
Zanesville and Maysville (Ky.) turnpike, and is crossed mid- 
way by a street not so long nor so compactly built. Two more 
streets, sparsely built, one north and the other south of and 
parallel with Main street, constituted the village when [I left 
_there about twelve years ago. It was on South street, gener- 
ally known as “Happy alley,” that the home of Sheridan was 
located. This street derived its name from the first Methodist 
church built there, the scene of many happy revivals among the 
pioneers. It is now known as Sheridan avenue. 

In the early days all that portion of the town west of the 
Court House, on the Hocking side, was known as Pig Foot; 
all east, on the Muskingum side, was Turkey Foot. Columbus 
street was the dividing line, also, between two belligerent fac- 
tions whose sectional prejudices caused many fights among the 
boys of those days. There was no other cause apparent, but 
we all know that dreadful wars have been precipitated between 
Christian nations on more flimsy pretexts than that which 
caused the war between the Turkey Foot and Pig Foot boys. 
However, those boys have not fought on that question now 
for fifty years or more. These mountaineers were types of 
rural simplicity, believing that the chief object of mankind 
was to fight and be loyal to his friends and country at the risk 
of life. 

From the Sheridan cottage there is a beautiful view of the 
Hocking Valley, as it extends many miles south until the blue 
hills blend with the sky. The scene is so grand and inspiring 


GENERAL SHERIDAN’S BOYHOOD HOME 
Somerset, Ohio 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 13 


had not been developed in Phil instead of the martial spirit 
that early possessed him. 

During half a century there has been little change in Som- 
erset. For more than sixty years the curfew bell at the Court 
House has rung at nine o’clock, which is regarded as the proper 
hour for retiring. When the Catholic bell on the hill rings 
for six o'clock in the morning it is expected that everyone is 
up and doing. It is true that the nine o’clock signal summon- 
ing to rest is poorly observed by the average boy, yet it is 
sternly insisted upon by the village marshal as he makes his 
nightly round. 

The old Court House, with its ungrammatical motto over 
the arched entrance door, is still standing as proudly and firmly 
as it did when justice was dealt out there seventy years ago. 
Some great men spoke from its rostrum—that greatest and 
most eloquent orator, Tom Corwin, also William Henry Har- 
rison, President in 1840. Henry Clay, too, spoke there, and 
many times he passed the old building on his way to and from 
his Kentucky home. Here is an. old legend handed down as 
to how the grammatical error occurred in the inscription above 
the entrance, which, in large and well-chiseled letters, reads: 
“Let Justice be done. If the Heavens should Fall.” 

There came to Somerset in avery early day, before the 
Court House was built, a German, well educated, speaking 
many languages. Soon after his arrival he became engaged in 
a law suit, which was decided against him, greatly to his sur- 
prise and contrary to his ideas of law and justice. 

When the time came for the completion of the Court House, 
the Town Council held a meeting to decide what inscription 
should be carved upon the huge stone to be placed above the 
etitrance. Every member had an idea of his own, but, owing 
to more or less jealousy, each failed to receive a sufficient 


14 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


number of votes to adopt any one of them, so the meeting 
ended in a wrangle. It was then proposed that the educated 
German should be invited to submit one. This was agreed 
upon, and the next day one of the members of the Council, 
who was the judge that had decided the case against the Ger- 
man the year before, called and stated his business. The 
German, still smarting silently under the defeat he had sus- 
tained, now saw his opportunity to be revenged, but appeared 
to be highly complimented at this show of confidence in his 
literary judgment. However, he had it understood that the 
judge must assume authorship of the inscription, for it would 
discredit the Council in the public eye were it known that they 
had gone outside to procure it. This more than satisfied the 
judge, as he was proud to father the authorship—it would help 
him in his next candidacy for election as Justice of the Peace. 

When the motto was submitted at the next meeting it was 
adopted. The lettering was done, the huge stone hoisted to 
its place, and the building completed, but the error was not 
discovered until the following year. The judge was reminded 
of it so often that he became disgusted and moved West, but 
the German, as he passed, would often look up at that inscrip- ~ 
tion, solemnly smile at the sarcasm, and say: “It ish true! 
It ish true!” 

There is no excitement in Somerset, generally speaking, 
except during a political campaign, a war, or a rumor of war, 
at which times the people are thoroughly disturbed; but when 
the election returns are all in, or the war over, every one re- 
sumes the even tenor of his way. One does not see the wor- 
ried faces and frenzied rush that are encountered on every hand 
in the streets of the large metropolis. | 

No place can be more patriotic than this quiet little village. 
One of my earliest recollections of little Phil Sheridan is of a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 5 


Fourth of July celebration we attended when he and I were 
about six or seven years old. It might have been here that 
Phil received his first military impulse and patriotic thrill. 

A Fourth of July celebration was a great event at that 
time in our village; every one participated in the exercises; 
not that we were more patriotic then than now, but, there 
being fewer patriotic holidays, our patriotism was more con- 
densed. Early in the morning on these days long trains of 
farmers’ wagons would commence arriving, the head teams 
carrying the fife, drum and flags. Long tables would be 
erected in the most convenient groves for a grand dinner; all 
the uniformed military companies of the county would be 
present, while a six-pounder brass cannon on the Reading hill 
would awaken us in the morning and continue its salute until 
noon, when the grand dinner was prepared. The boys prided 
themselves greatly on this brass cannon, and eagerly each year 
did they throw themselves before the car of juggernaut (for 
the cannon caused many serious accidents) for the happy 
prominence of being one of the “Firing Squad.” 

The most attractive feature in a Fourth of July celebration 
was a decrepit Revolutionary soldier by the name of Dusen- 
bury, who lived about six miles east of us in a hamlet called 
Greasetown, from the greasy appearance of an old carding 
machine and its greasy proprietor. The name of that hamlet 
is changed now to Sego. This old soldier, growing yearly 
less able to attend the celebrations, attracted much attention, 
as he was the last one in our part of the county who had be- 
longed to that immortal band of heroes of ’76. 

The first time Phil and I saw him he was brought up in 
a farmer’s wagon, seated on a split-bottom chair (there were 
no buggies then and but few carriages). He was clad in a 
new suit of homespun linen that, we were told, his old wife 


16 GENERAL PHoit H. SHERIDAN 


had spun, wove and made for him. As the wagon drove into 
the grove it caused something of a sensation, for you could 
see many who recognized him gathering about the wagon to 
offer their services in assisting the feeble old man to alight. 
When safely out, he was carefully led to the platform occupied 
by our prominent citizens and speakers. The old man, totter- 
ing with age and infirmity, was given the place of honor— 
the observed of all observers. 

While this was going on, Phil Sheridan, who was standing 
by my side, asked me who that old man was and why every 
one was so glad to see him. I was prepared to answer the 
question, for I had just heard the story from my elder 
brother. I told Phil that his name was Dusenbury, he lived 
at Greasetown, had been a soldier under Washington, and that 
“Dan” told me he was in five battles. He had belonged to 
the Horsemen. 

I never saw Phil’s brown eyes open so wide or gaze with 
such interest as they did on this old revolutionary relic. I am 
sure it made a deep impression on his boyish imagination, for 
he followed him to and from the dinner table, and, when the 
exercises were over, we were still near him. The patriotic im- 
pression he seemed to receive, as he looked with awe and inter- 
est at the comrade of Washington, no doubt clung to him 
through life and was probably the first glow of military emo- 
tion he experienced. 

When, some years after, the news was brought to our 
village that the old soldier was dead, and that another firing 
squad was forming to go down to fire a salute over his grave, 
Phil was the first among the boys to propose that we walk 
down, which we did, but fortune favored some of us in gain- 
ing a ride home on the cannon. 

I have always thought that Somerset has produced more 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND Vy 


than its share of eccentric and humorous characters. There 
was always more than a supply of people with peculiar char- 
acteristics. It was thought, also, that people here lived to a 
greater age than elsewhere. This was attributed to the ele- 
vated location and the simple lives and regular habits of the 
people. 

As to the remarkable age of some of its citizens, there was 
“Old Loney,” who was one hundred and ten years old and did 
his own cooking and washing (very little washing); then 
there was Sam Cassal, the tinner, who thought himself a 
young man at the age of seventy, for, at that age, he climbed 
the Court House steeple to repair the brass globe that orna- 
mented the spire. I must not forget the village drummer—he 
was that before Phil Sheridan was born—living only a few 
steps from Phil’s home. During the Civil War, although 
fifty-six years old, he felt the throb of patriotism with impulse 
strong enough to volunteer in my second company as its 
drummer. He and his son Tom, with bugle and drum, awoke 
us among the stirring scenes of the Shenandoah Valley with 
their unwelcome “‘reveille,” or lulled us to sleep with the more 
welcome “lights out.” Once a month he could be seen and 
heard beating the “long roll” to remind the old soldier of Post 
night; or when a veteran was carried to his last camping 
ground “Billy” was at the head of the procession with muffled 
drunt to cadence the step of those who followed their dead 
comrade to the “green tent,” for, in that village, it was seldom 
that a soldier would take his last march without a military 
escort and the honors of war. In 1895, at the advanced age 
of eighty-five years, he attended the reunion of the 31st 
O. V. I. at New Lexington, and rather than wait for a train 
at the conclusion of the exercises, he shouldered his drum and 
walked home, nine miles over the hills. 


18 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


A star among all unique characters was one J. N. Free, 
who lived in our county for Several years. So overwhelming 
was his assurance, that he could journey anywhere—East, 
West, North or South—without meeting a single landlord 
who would hint of an unpaid bill, or railroad president who 
would refuse him a pass. These latter were generally made 
out: ‘Pass the Immortal J. N. from time to eternity.” And 
whenever he took his departure from an hostelry, it was with 
a parting, “Call again, J. N.!”’, from the proprietor. 

In 1894 Somerset boasted of three Mrs. John Smiths. 
One was the subject of much gossip, and as she was thin and 
bony, she was known by everyone as “Sarah Bernhardt.” No 
one thought of calling her by any other name, and the custom 
was economical, for it not only saved words but also com- 
pletely identified her. Then there were three James Browns. 
Instead of saying “James Brown the lawyer,’ or “James 
Brown the shoemaker” or blacksmith, they were known as 
“Big Jim,” “Little Jim,’ and “Fool Jim’’—not very elegant 
expressions, I admit, but there was never the least objection 
made to this style of brief identification. 

But it is not alone famous warriors and unique characters 
who have been produced in this once obscure County of 
Perry, for I read in Martzloff’s history of this county, pub- 
lished within the last three years, that a distinguished edu- 
cator can be added to the list. That author says that Presi- 
dent Harper of the University of Chicago received a part of 
his education at Madison Academy, which 1s situated about 
five miles from where Phil Sheridan was born. 

You may think I am dwelling unduly on the village and 
its scenes. My excuse is that it is more than doubly historic. 
Not only does the luster of Sheridan’s immortal valor and 
genius shed a brilliancy over this quiet, simple place—its un- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 19 


pretentious streets and humble homes were known to General 
Sherman also. To Somerset it was, that Sherman, when 
quite a young man, came from his home in the next town to 
“see his girl,’ who was attending school on the hill. She 
was a Miss Ellen Ewing, whom he afterward married. 

The first time General Sherman attracted my attention he 
was engaged in the pleasant pastime of courting, and Phil 
Sheridan and I were playing “hopscotch” a few feet from the 
residence of Martin Scott, who was a friend of this wooing 
couple. I remember Phil calling my attention to him as he 
leaned against the door talking earnestly to his sweetheart. 
The scene would have been unnoticed were it not that Sher- 
man was clad in the semi-military uniform then worn by 
West Point cadets. From another boy we learned that his 
home was in Lancaster and that he was the ward of Hon. 
Thomas Ewing, who had secured him the appointment to 
West Point. He was then home on his vacation. 

The next time I saw Gen. Sherman was at Camp Dick 
Robinson, in Kentucky. He was reprimanding the officers 
of our Regiment—the 31st Ohio V. I.—for unsoldierly con- 
duct. That story shall appear later. 

Had old Mrs. Harper, the village fortune-teller and 
prophetess, passed us and told me that these two boys, the 
one with whom I was playing and the other standing but a 
few feet away, both poor and obscure, would some day be 
full generals of the army; would immortalize themselves in a 
great war, and that I should follow them on foot thousands 
of miles in cold and heat, hunger and thirst; that both would 
be offered the Presidency of the United States of America; 
that I should look down from one of the mountains of the 
Blue Ridge and see the younger one entering the Valley of 
the Shenandoah at the head of ten thousand cavalry and a 


20 GENERAL Puoit H. SHERIDAN 


corps of infantry; that he would change that valley within a 
year from one of humiliation and defeat to one of triumph 
and victory—had she told me this, I could not have believed 
her, and should have thought, “I pity you, Mrs. Harper; you 
are becoming demented by smoking that old strong pipe for 
sO many years. Your prophecy will never come to pass.” 

From still another standpoint is the old village of Somer- 
set historic! 

Just a few miles south of us a poor boy was born and 
lived until he grew to manhood. This boy often visited our 
village to dispose of butter, eggs, etc. When he reached 
manhood, he left Ohio and became a journalist, developing 
a heart as well as an intellect. He was employed by the New 
York Herald and London News, the two most widely circu- 
lated papers then published in the English language, traversed 
the globe in the interest of his papers, and through his letters _ 
spread knowledge of men and facts that advanced civilization 
and humanity. This boy was Janarius Aloysius MacGahan. 

His most historic work was the liberation of Bulgaria. 
He had heard of the debased condition of the Bulgarians and 
the horrible cruelties practiced by their inhuman masters, the 
Turks. He went there at the risk of his life to witness these 
things, and found that half the truth had not been told. He 
saw the bodies of the murdered Bulgarians fed to the dogs, 
and women exposed to brutalities worse than death. 

His pencil truthfully described these atrocities, and his 
sympathy and heroism gave force to the brilliancy his intel- 
lect inspired. His letters aroused the civilized world, espe- 
cially England. The result was that he dethroned the selfish 
Disraeli by causing a revolution in that country that placed 
Gladstone at the head of the British administration. The 
Czar of Russia was awakened by these letters, which resulted 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 21 


in the Turko-Russian War, ending in the liberation of Bul- 
garia and the restoration of millions of people to independ- 
ence. | 

This humble boy changed the map of Europe. He was 
raised under circumstances not dissimilar to those influencing 
Phil Sheridan, his older compeer. Sheridan carved immor- 
tality with the sword by the opportunities offered him; 
_ MacGahan won glory and the gratitude of millions by creat- 
ing the occasion and consummating a triumph in the creation 
of States. Sheridan helped preserve the Union by the sword; 
MacGahan created a nation by his pencil. The soldier de- 
stroyed the enemies of his country; the journalist lifted up the 
oppressed. The call of the bugle moved Sheridan’s patriotic 
zeal, but a heart-beat animated the pencil of the liberator of 
Bulgaria. 

These boys, born without the advantage of wealth, amidst 
the embarrassments of pioneer life, have cut their names 
high on the monuments of fame; they stand higher than 
kings and emperors. MacGahan could have been King of 
Bulgaria. Both died young, but still old enough to witness 
the consummation of that for which they so bravely fought. 
The one was mourned by a nation which he had done so much 
to preserve; the other, in far-away Constantinople, met death 
through nursing his friend, Lieutenant Greene, U. S. A., 
late Brigadier General in the Philippine war, since Commis- 
sioner of Police of New York City, whom he found ill with 
a malignant fever. 

Although a trusted friend of the Czar of Russia and the 
idol of the Russian army, who knew him as “The Brave 
American,” yet it was MacGahan’s special pride that he was 
an American, and his dying request to his Russian wife was 
that she make America her home, that their boy might grow 


22 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


up an American. This wish she faithfully granted, dying 
four years ago in New York City. 

MacGahan is revered in Bulgaria as are Washington and 
Lincoln in America. For ten years his remains reposed 
where he died, the grave being marked by a beautiful monu- 
ment erected by his friend and comrade, General Skobeleff, 
with whom he always rode in battle. 

The legislature of Ohio, with commendable appreciation 
for one who died in the interests of humanity, passed a reso- 
lution that his body be brought from Turkey to his native 
State. This was generously approved by the Secretary of 
of the Navy, who immediately sent the war vessel Powhatan 
on that patriotic mission, an honor never before conferred 
by this country upon a private citizen. In due time the vessel 
returned, and the remains were transferred to his native hills, 
to rest near his old home and kindred. 

From what I have said, which is already too long, you 
can gather an idea of the queer old town that was the home 
of Phil Sheridan, where, when I was a boy, nearly every one 
had his horse and his cow, his pigs and his dog; where no 
one was very poor and no one very rich; where integrity 
and intellect ranked higher than wealth; where simplicity and 
absence from conventionality still prevail, and a prejudice yet 
lurks against much jewelry and “plug” hats. I have often 
thought that there is no place on earth where birth and wealth 
count for so little, and brains and character for so much. 
Generally speaking, the people believe that no nation can long 
survive a decay of reverence for the true and the good. That 
instinct which reveres the pure and noble in life was culti- 
-vated; the populace believes that to forget or abandon it is 
to enfeeble the nation’s health or to deal a death-blow to its 
existence, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 23 


I do not want to be understood as saying that we had no 
sinners. We had our share of fighting and gambling, with 
some stealing and not a few drunkards, but for the thief, the 
swindler and the fraud there was no mercy. 

Note.—A few years ago I returned to the little town that 
had been for so many years at a standstill and that had shel- 
tered so many distinguished characters. I found it greatly 
changed. There were many beautiful houses, new and mod- 
ern, old ones had been remodeled, and there was an atmos- 
phere of new life and energy. Factories and other indus- 
trial centers had arisen. While admiring the new Somerset 
I met one of my boys from Company G. He had been one 
of the company’s wags, and soon I had occasion to find that 
he had not reformed. 

“Dave, how do you account for this change in ten years?” 
I asked. With a most serious air he replied: 

“We are divided on that question. You may remember 
that you left here about the time that President McKinley 
was elected, so we really don’t know whether it was your 
leaving or his prosperity.” 


CHAPTER 11. 


WOULD NOT SHAKE HANDS WITH THE VICE-PRESIDENT— 
JUVENILE SHOWS—IN A BAD BOX—REFUSES THE OFFER 
OF A. T. STEWART, THE MERCHANT PRINCE. 


when Phil Sheridan was eight or nine years old and 
which foreshadowed the firmness and zealous courage 
that marked his public life in later years. It happened dur- 
ing the Presidential campaign of 1840, which is known in 
political history as the “coonskin and hard cider” campaign. 

Intense excitement prevailed throughout the country 
previous to this Presidential election. We were small boys 
then, but I remember the events of that election as if it were 
but yesterday. 

That year the Democrats nominated Martin Van Buren 
for President and Colonel Richard M. Johnson for Vice- 
President. Johnson was from Kentucky. Our village was 
on the main road between the East and Southwest, which 
was much traveled when the Ohio River was frozen or too 
low for navigation. 

The National Conventions were all held in the East in 
those days, so when Colonel Johnson returned from the con- 
vention that nominated him, he traveled through Somerset 
by stage. Our village was a stopping place to change horses 
and dine, and his coming was heralded on the day before his 
arrival. It was arranged to hold a reception during the half 
hour in which he would honor us, and a public meeting was 
held the night before to make all the arrangements. As the 
time approached for the stage with its distinguished passen- 

24 


R ste here let me mention an incident that occurred 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 25 


ger to arrive, the hotel and pavement in front were densely 
packed with Democrats. Then the boys who were on the 
lookout heard the driver’s horn from Harper’s Hill, and soon 
after the stage came in. 

Even now I can see those four gray horses dashing through 
the village at full speed, the driver proudly erect, for he was 
conveying the Vice-Presidential nominee. Old “Dave” Grif- 
fith, a zealous Democrat, was the driver. 

The reception committee escorted the Colonel to the 
dining-room, and after dinner he was to return to the “bar- 
room,” as a hotel office was always called in those days, where 
a reception would be held. 

Every Democrat in the village who could walk was there, 
and every Democratic and Whig boy was there also. (It 
was Whig and Democrat then.) The excitement was so 
great and the feeling so bitter throughout that campaign that 
the Whig boy could think of the Democratic nominee only 
with scorn and contempt; yet we revered and admired him 
as a soldier and Indian slayer, for we had all heard and read 
of his being the hero of the battle of the Thames, and that 
he had there killed the great Indian chief Tecumseh in single 
combat. To the Whig boy there was a dark and a bright side 
to his fame. We were there to feast our eyes on the bright 
side—Colonel Johnson as the soldier and Indian slayer. While 
doing that we could view him with an awe and veneration 
that none but a boy could feel. 

After dinner the reception begun. The bar-room was 
densely packed. As each Democrat took the crippled hand 
(for it had been shot in battle) he pressed his way back, to 
allow another to take his place. When the last man had gone 
through this ceremony the Colonel looked at his watch and 
remarked to General Leydey, master of ceremonies, “TJ still 


26 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


have ten minutes to remain, and I see a number of boys near 
me and would like to shake hands with them.” When the 
Democratic boys heard this they pressed forward, while the 
Whig boys, seeing trouble ahead, pushed back toward the 
door. 

Little Sheridan was near me. Being Whigs, we struggled 
manfully to get to the rear. I was stronger than he, and 
succeeded in getting out of sight of the Colonel, but Phil was 
not so successful. He struggled in vain. He surged to and 
fro, back and forth, but made no headway. As I forced my 
way back it looked to me as if Phil must shake hands 
with a Democrat. The Democratic boys, after shaking hands, 
would fall back and close up the few little Whigs that had 
failed to extricate themselves. A final push on the part of 
the Democratic boys forced Phil in front of Colonel Johnson, 
who offered his hand, but it was not taken. Instead, both 
Phil’s hands went behind, and his head drooped in confusion. 

“Little boy, won’t you shake hands with me?” asked the 
Colonel. 3 

“No, sir; I don’t want to,” replied Phil. 

“Why not?’ asked Colonel Johnson. 

“Because I am a Whig!’ was Phil’s answer. 

“Oh, that makes no difference!” was the encouraging 
reply. 

“Yes, sir; it does. It isn’t right!’ was young Sheridan’s 
quick response. 

The master of ceremonies then tried it, and the Demo- 
cratic boys about him urged, but he was immovable. He was 
surrounded, but would not surrender. 

“T want to get out of here!’ said he. 

This caused a laugh. Colonel Johnson enjoyed the inci- 
dent more than anyone, and said, “Boys, give way and let 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 27 


this little Whig out; we can’t force or coax him to shake hands 
with a Democrat.” 

In Phil’s childish judgment, had he taken the proffered 
hand it would have been an indication of sympathy with the 
enemy; indeed, he might have been accused of disloyalty by 
the Whig boys, and undoubtedly would have lost caste with 
them. 

The next day, still suffering from the mortification and 
embarrassment of the day before, he told me: “I would 
rather have been whipped than laughed at by a room full of 
Democrats.” And yet he, with every other Whig boy in 
town, idolized Colonel Johnson for the deeds he had done, 
provided we could have forgotten that he was a Democrat. 
I am sure we all gazed upon him with admiration when we 
thought of him as a soldier, and remembered that he had seen 
war, and killed an Indian; then, to mar all our generous emo- 
tions, would come the thought that he was our political 
enemy. 

When about ten years old we heard that Tom Corwin, 
the famous orator, would speak at Rehobeth, eight miles over 
a hilly country from our village. We had heard of this won- 
derful and fascinating talker, so a group of Whig boys, among 
whom was Phil, concluded we would walk there. We de- 
sired to hear and see this great man. He spoke in an old 
tobacco house, and I shall never forget how he charmed us 
with his eloquence. We thought we were well repaid for 
our weary walk. 

In “looking back’”’ again, I can remember having been 
associated with Phil in the ‘show business.” 

The proximity of the Sheridan cottage to the fields where 
the circuses and menageries would pitch their tents made me 
envious of Phil’s good fortune, for he lived so near the show 


28 GENERAL PHint H. SHERIDAN 


grounds that he could hear and see the excitement, glamour 
and turmoil from the moment of arrival until they “folded 
their tents and away again.” 

It is difficult for those who have never actually experi- 
enced it to comprehend to its fullest extent the pleasant ex- 
citement and interest felt by a boy living in a dull village 
when a show was coming. From the day the big-lettered, 
highly-colored posters were put up until the grand event was 
over, was a solid three weeks of pleasure. 

You may be sure the wandering caravans dragging them- 
selves through muddy roads, dust and rain, were not the 
affairs of beauty and elegance you see nowadays, but the 
tinsel and glitter, the elephant and eagle, the music and mon- 
keys, camels and clowns were enough to fill our souls with 
delight and wonder. 

How our hearts bounded with awe and admiration as the 
procession came into town! Nothing has ever looked so 
grand and beautiful to me since, not even the great World’s 
Fair of 1893. 

They tried to make the entrance at ten o’clock, though 
there was often a delay of an hour or two on account of 
muddy roads or swollen streams. But ten o'clock was too 
long for a boy to wait for a show, so immediately after break- 
fast, sometimes before, a party of us would push out in the 
direction of the coming glory to escort the elephant in. 

On one of these occasions eight or ten of us, including 
Phil, had gone quite early about four miles from home and. 
took up a good position from which to see the parade. Trees 
and sheds were occupied. With a keen eye for a place of ex- 
cellent observation, Sheridan selected an overhanging apple 
tree which was very desirable. Not only was it high enough, 
but it had the additional advantage of looking down on the 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 29 


elephant’s back as he passed. Soon we were reinforced by 
another group of boys of larger size, one of whom, seeing the 
desirable place Sheridan occupied, took it into his head to dis- 
lodge him and take possession himself. This, of course, was 
resisted with all the energy in Phil’s power. As the in- 
truder’s head came up to Sheridan’s feet, there was a constant 
and most vigorous kicking. The attacking party was thus 
held at bay until the dust of the approaching show could be 
seen not far away and was loudly announced by the other 
boys. This caused a suspension of hostilities, Phil holding 
the coveted position. 

Near the Sheridan home, in the alley, stood a large tobacco 
house. After that plant had ceased to be a product of our 
county the house was converted into a barn in which horses 
were gathered and kept until a sufficient number had been 
purchased for shipment to Eastern cities. When not in use 
for horses, we found it a convenient and commodious place 
in which to hold shows, as after the departure of a circus or 
menagerie there always followed a season of shows among 
the boys. The enthusiasm would remain with us in gradu- 
ally decreasing measure until the advent of the next circus 
revived the spirit. 

When about eight years old we held the best show we had 
ever had, and as such it was widely advertised. It took a 
week to collect old carpets, sheets and quilts, ropes, boards 
and other property for the first performance. The company 
was to be select, none but the best talent. One of the most 
attractive features was the orchestra. Two mouth organs 
and a tenor drum which a boy had purloined from his uncle 
were the principal instruments. A playmate by the name of 
Hugh Cull was manager and organizer; he had the reputation 
of being a success in that line. He was two or three years 


30 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


older than the other members—a strange mixture of nervous- 
ness, tyranny, cruelty and kindness; arbitrary and exacting 
during rehearsals and entertainments, but that over, if all had 
gone right, he was a model of goodness and generosity. His 
freckled face and blazing red curly hair could be seen every- 
where during the show; nothing escaped him, especially a 
failure or blunder before the audience. When such a mis- 
fortune occurred we were treated to a severe reprimand, com- 
posed largely of curses, sometimes a slap, or, what was re- 
garded as far more severe, a discharge from the company, as 
he termed it, “turning us off.” But, with all his severe disci- 
pline, we were attached to him, and never did any of us mur- 
mur or revolt. In spite of his severity, we knew by experi- 
ence that he would fight for us and divide his last apple or 
stick of candy with his company. 

In Cull’s show Phil generally had the trapeze part, which 
concluded with the “hanging act.” This was accomplished 
by tying a rope to an upper cross-beam, the other end of the 
rope being adjusted under the actor’s arm, and, concealed 
by his shirt, it passed thence to his neck, with the pressure ali 
coming under the arms. In this adjustment he was pulled 
up by the assistants, who let him remain until he was pro- 
nounced dead by the manager, and carried out. 

On one occasion Phil’s turn came after mine. I was the 
contortionist. As soon as my part was over, I was sent by 
Cull to relieve the doorkeeper, who was needed for some prep- 
arations, but before he left me,’ Phil’s mother came up and, 
speaking through the door, which was ajar, inquired if her 
boy was there, saying she needed him at home. I quickly 
sent for Cull, who demanded of her what she wanted. Her 
reply was, ‘“To be admitted, so I can get Phil!” He told her, 
with spirit and determination, that she could not do this, as 


THE HOUSE THE GENERAL BUILT FOR HIS MOTHER 


baad me ae, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 31 


Phil couldn’t be spared from his part, which was then on. 
Mrs. Sheridan insisted, but Cull was immovable. I could see 
through the cracks, and from what I heard of her remarks, 
I knew that her patience had become exhausted. “I have been 
calling him for some time,” she insisted. To this the inde- 
pendent manager replied that that made no difference; she 
could not have him. Iam sure the request was, in his opinion, 
so unreasonable that, if made by the Governor of the State, 
it would have been flatly and firmly refused. Excited and 
indignant, he told her to go home; that she need not think 
she could break up the show in that manner. The mother 
returned to her home, which the manager could see through 
the open spaces, then, unbolting the door, he called out loudly 
and triumphantly to Mrs. Sheridan that he did not want her 
to come back and trouble him in that manner again. The 
distant clamor and applause of the audience made it impos- 
sible for the discussion to be heard in the arena, so Phil was 
not aware of his mother’s presence, which was_ probably 
caused by a desire to get him from the profane example of 
our manager, whose loud talk could be easily heard from the 
Sheridan home. ; 

About this time Van Amberg and Dresbach, the lion 
tamers, were attracting great attention, so the next show, on 
the following Saturday, was to be a circus and menagerie 
combined; we would then have a Dresbach. To have a 
menagerie without one would be a poor affair. As this ad- 
dition would involve some extra labor and expense, the price 
was advanced to five pins, which caused some murmuring on 
the part of our patrons, but Cull was obdurate. The animals 
were a pet coon, a squirrel and a blacksnake, and ‘‘Herr Dres- 
bach,” who was Phil Sheridan, was to enter a den of other 
animals. A dry goods box had been secured and prepared 


32 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


before the show. In place of the lid, slats were nailed on, close 
enough together to prevent a cat’s escape; a board was removed 
from one side to give space enough for a small boy to enter, 
then, after he and the animals were inside, the board was 
replaced. Phil’s little dog was first put in, much against his 
will; then a member of the company brought in a large cat, 
which, also, objected to entering, but with some struggling 
and scratching it was thrust inside and the board quickly re- 
placed. Then Phil made his appearance in tights, in imita- 
tion of Dresbach; that is, his trousers were rolled up to his 
body and there secured, his sleeves the same, making his 
appearance so much like a showman that it brought applause. 
The situation within the box was this: The cat at one end, 
with arched back, glaring eyes, and tail as big as a muff, 
crowded herself as far from the dog as the space would allow; 
the little dog, at the other end, with fight in every feature of 
his face, was ready for combat. Then Phil, in his semi-nude 
state, was assisted to enter. So encouraged was the dog by 
the entrance of his master that the battle commenced. The 
cat, unable to escape, could do nothing but fight, which she 
proceeded to do in the most ferocious manner. As the dog- 
and-cat fight was not on the program, Phil, fearing the dis- 
pleasure of the manager, attempted to separate the enraged 
animals, but only succeeded in getting his legs and arms badly 
scratched in the triangular conflict. There was no escape, 
unless by outside intervention, for which he loudly called, 
“Move the board! Move the board!’ This was quickly 
done, and out rushed a boy with bloody arms and legs, closely 
followed by a cat, with a dog in full pursuit. This lively scene 
was so much more than had been announced that our patrons 
were delighted, as was evidenced by the loud and prolonged 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 33 


applause. But that feature of the show was never attempted 
again. 

A mutual friend, with A. T. Stewart, the merchant prince 
of New York, called on General Sheridan. After the intro- 
duction, followed by a brief conversation, the friend broached 
the object of this call, which was if General Sheridan would 
retire from the army and become a salaried member of the 
Stewart store; his salary should be $25,000 per year. The 
General did not at first comprehend the proposition, and re- 
plied that he knew nothing of the dry goods business now. 
He was told that nothing would be expected of him, no duties 
nor obligations would be required, excepting his presence in 
the office or wherever it would be congenial to him. The 
public to know that he was attached to the store would be all. 
Phil now conceived the purpose, stating that when he was 
a boy he was a clerk in a store, and younger he had been in 
the show business, and had a very unpleasant memory of that, 
adding he could not entertain the proposition, and dismissed 
the subject rather unceremoniously. JI asked Phil’s brother 
John how the General liked it. It made him half mad, but, 
in consideration of the mutual friend, treated the gentleman 
with ordinary politeness. 


CHAPTER WT 


BILLY JONES’ EARLY DIPLOMACY—BOYS FUN—PHIL’S KIND- 
NESS TO MY DOG—THE ONLY TIME THAT PHIL EVER SUR- 
RENDERED. 


“The bravest are the tenderest, 
The loving are the daring.” 
OYS, did you ever have much fun? I am prepared 
B to believe that you did if the conditions were favor- 
able. Human nature is the same in every clime. 

The best field for fun, in my opinion, is a town not too 
large, or a village not too small; for if the place be too small 
it might not possess enough material to make fun—there may 
be no one there to aggravate. Of course that kind of fun is 
not the most commendable or conscientious, but it is very 
tempting, sometimes irresistibly so. 

The boy should be from eight to twelve years old, and 
should not be a Little Lord Fauntleroy, whose mother, with 
a most cruel vanity, forces the long locks on the little fellow 
during the hottest weather. Long locks and fine clothing 
greatly interfere with fun. As a recent writer thus wisely 
expresses it: 

“The idea of making men and women of little children 
before they have gained the age of true reason, not only de- 
prives them of their pleasure, but makes them totally unpre- 
pared for the pleasures nature has provided for their special 
benefit, and they should be allowed occasionally to play in the 
dirt and mud.” 

34 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F‘RIEND 35 


I always pity the poor little fellows with long locks curled, 
and cramped with frills and laces. Fine clothes are a restric- 
tion to a boy in search of fun, and in warm weather he should 
by all means be allowed to go barefooted; let him enjoy the 
rough luxury, he will be happier and healthier. Nearly all of 
our Presidents were once barefooted boys. I am reminded 
that in ’61 we started out in the First Company with 
two young men, who when boys were never allowed by their 
mothers to run barefooted and were always carefully dressed. 
We were not out long until they commenced drooping and 
pining away, and both were claimed by Death before we had 
been out a year. 

When Phil Sheridan and I were at the age of which I 
speak, we had as a frequent visitor to our village a colored 
wanderer. Until he died he possessed an inexhaustible fund 
of fun for us. I recall this one incident because it was with 
this old darkey that I saw Phil show a diplomacy that was a 
credit to him or any other boy nine or ten years old. 

The character I refer to was middle aged and slightly de- 
mented when we first became acquainted with him. His 
migratory habits brought him to Somerset about every sixty 
days. He wandered from Circleville, Pickaway County, west 
of us, to Dresden, Muskingum County, east, a total distance 
of about seventy-five miles. Our village was about midway 
between these points. - 

He always appeared in a suit of cast-off military clothing, 
of which he had an abundance to last for many years. Owing 
to the repeal of the State law encouraging uniformed military 
companies, “Billy”. Jones, for that was his name, experienced 
no difficulty in keeping himself clad in a military outfit, a con- 
dition dear to his heart, for his dementia took a soldierly 
trend. 


36 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


His arrival in the village, as he marched with cadenced 
step in the middle of the street, looking straight to the front, 
and carrying his cane much as an infantry officer carries his 
sword, seemed to become known as if by magic to every boy 
in town. In ten minutes everyone had heard, “Billy Jones is 
here!” His military march would be interrupted only when 
he came in front of the hotel, where he would file to the right, 
or left, as the case might be. Entering the office, he would 
salute in perfect form, and say: 

“Massa Carroll, or McMahon, can I halt a few days at 
dese headqua’ters an’ saw wood fo’ my rations?” 

Whether or not any wood was needed, Mr. Carroll was 
too generous to deprive the boys of their fun, so “Billy” 
always received an affirmative answer. Then he would say: 

“Massa Carroll, please let me have one good drink of 
whisky, an’ Pll go straight to de wood-pile.”’ 

There were two things besides a military outfit for which 
he had a weakness; indeed they were most dear to his heart. 
These were whisky and to be titled “Colonel.” (He must 
have been born in Kentucky.) 

As already remarked, it was amazing how soon the pres- 
ence of our dusky visitor became known among the boys, both 
in and out of school, and it was doubtless an aggravating 
problem to the “masters” how the school should become so 
decimated in so short a time during school hours; but it did 
not take a shrewd observer to see that the number of young- 
sters in the streets and alleys ’round about the dark man wear- 
ing soldier clothes and sawing wood would make up for the 
vacancies in classes. 

Soon a group of boys would form and hurl obnoxious 
names at him, most frequently “Billy Blacksnake,” and “Billy 
Jones, a skin full of bones!’ When he was in a very amiable 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 37 


mood, and these and other offensive names did not have the 
desired effect, we would rain cobs, clods and chips around and 
about him. This always brought on a crisis. Soon the whites 
of his eyes could be seen, glaring with suppressed wrath beneath 
his soldier cap; not long after, his saw would be flung wildly to 
one side, he would seize his cane, and there would be a rush, 
with the direst imprecations upon his now flying tormentors. 
The race was usually up Main street and continued until every 
boy had disappeared to right and left, into doors and down 
alleys, and none were left. We would scatter, each one for 
himself, and literally disappear in the air, and “Billy,” with 
loud threats and flourishing cane, would go back to his wood- 
pile. Then we would rally again, and every door would open 
to afford a recruit; every alley passed would swell our num- 
bers, so that by the time “Billy” resumed his saw the same 
group would be about him provoking another charge. In this 
way the battle would rage for hours. Fortunately for the 
boys, “Billy’s” legs were so stiffened from age, exposure or 
rheumatism that he was not a fleet runner, so there was not 
much danger of our being captured, unless one should fall, 
or be surprised by a flank attack from an alley, 

In one of these long-continued battles with old “Billy,” 
Phil Sheridan had the misfortune, while looking back at the 
approaching foe, to stumble and fall. Just as he was rising 
to continue the retreat, the heavy black hand of the infuriated 
man descended on the back of his neck, bringing both to a 
halt. Then there was a flourishing of the big stick and loud 
threats of death. 

Looking back, we saw the condition of our comrade, and 
halted to take the offensive, hoping it might act as a diversion 
in favor of Phil by getting “Billy” started after the main body 
before the captive was quite dead. Having rallied within 


38 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


hearing distance, we noticed that the angry voice had stilled 
and the uplifted cane was not threatening death. We could 
also hear the prisoner doing most of the talking. There 
seemed to be a reconciliation, which was followed by a sepa- 
ration, Phil coming toward us and “Billy” proudly and with 
true military step countermarching towards the hotel wood- 
pile again. We waited anxiously for Phil’s report, and this 
was the substance of it, as well as I can remember. 

“Well, when he got me, I was sure I was gone up—that 
he’d kill me with his cane, but I thought that before I got 
killed I’d try to please him, and maybe he’d let me off. So I 
turned around, looked him in the face, and said: ‘Captain 
Jones! Let me go, Major! If you will, Pll go right back 
to school and not call you any more names, Colonel!’ Then 
he let go my neck, and said: 

“Tf you'll do dat, honey, Pll let you go; I sha’n’t kill yo’ 
dis time.’ 

“Then I said again, ‘Yes, Colonel, Pll go right off to 
school,’ and he laughed and said: 

“*That’s a good boy.’ © 

“T tell you, boys, I was glad to get away.” 

When I remember this scene of our boyhood days, with 
others similar, I can see that Phil was by instinct a diplomat 
and strategist. He knew the old military tramp’s weakness, 
and did not lose his presence of mind in the apparent danger. 
The emergency had to be faced, and he lavishly heaped mili- 
tary titles upon Billy, so that he became an easy prey to Phil’s 
diplomacy. He was compelled to use blarney in this case, 
although that was foreign to his nature. 

Old “Billy” Jones was a source of infinite fun for the boys 
on his line of travel, and the boys were an endless torment to 
“Billy” as long as he lived and wandered. When we heard 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 39 


of his death, which occurred at the Dresden end of the route, 
we were profoundly sorry, but it is to the credit of the Dres- 
den boys that they raised a fund sufficient to give him a decent 
burial with enough to purchase a cheap slab to mark his final 
“halt.” 


CHAPTER TY; 


SCHOOLS AND TEACHERS OF FIFTY YEARS AGO-—-PHIL SHER- 
IDAN CHASED BY THE OLD MASTER—BLACKBOARD AND 
ANTI-BLACKBOARD. 


at the ‘“‘masters” and “scholars” of over fifty years 

ago in our part of Ohio, it would provoke mirth 
mingled with pity. The schoolmasters of our days have be- 
come obsolete; the title has passed away. We never knew 
a teacher otherwise than as “The Master,’ and that name 
was really the most comprehensive. The term “teacher” 
designates a distinct and improved class; the first of this class 
with whom we had any experience was Mr. Richard Spellman, 
of Connecticut. 

General Sheridan, in the first volume of his memoirs, speaks 
of two of the old masters who taught and whipped us. In 
this connection he names two boys, Greiner and Binckley, who 
were, I am sorry to say, largely instrumental in getting him 
into trouble with these old masters. I well remember that I 
often proposed to Phil and Binckley that we go fishing or 
hunting on Mondays to avoid a prospective thrashing. In 


(Cas the teachers and pupils of today take a look 


after years, when I more fully understood my sins of the past, 
I expressed regret to Phil for having brought these troubles ~ 
upon us. He laughed and said, “We probably got about what 
we deserved.” But I felt the more guilty, as I was about a 
year older than he, while Binckley was older than either of us. 

Monday was always the day we selected to be absent from 
school, for the reason that the masters were never completely 

40 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 4I 


sober on that day, as they always devoted Saturdays and Sun- 
days to more or less drinking, the effects of which would leave 
them, on Monday, irritable and often cruel. Both were 
cranks. McNanly was Irish, Thorn was a Virginian (he 
would always say “Jeemes’ for James). Thorn’s weakness, 
on Mondays, ran to excessive dignity and stately manners 
that appeared ridiculous even to a child. He had a habit, 
before becoming entirely sober, of whipping every boy on the 
bench if one was detected doing amiss. We sat on long 
benches, and the last boy on the bench would often be whipped 
until there was nothing left of the rod. | 

Phil Sheridan came in late one morning and took the end 
of the bench. In the unsobered eyes of the master there was 
something wrong at the upper end, so the whipping com- 
-menced and was followed up until he came to Phil, who, being 
on the end, received the extraordinary dose. 

Phil was not revengeful nor vicious, but the punishment 
this time was more severe than usual; so, not crying, but 
“mad all over,” he conceived the idea of “getting even,” as 
we called it. He made a confidant of “Bill” Jonas, who was 
eager to co-operate, because during the last term he attended 
he had been whipped every day on general principles, whether 
he deserved it or not. 

Phil proposed to Bill that they enter the school room 
through the window and so poise the bucket of water over 
the door that whoever entered first (they knowing it would 
be McNanly) would receive the contents on his head. The 
plan worked well, and the master was drenched from head to 
foot. By the time he had mopped himself and the floor the 
“scholars” began to arrive, which, there being no special hour 
to commence school, generally took until about ten o’clock. 

When all were in their places an investigation begun 


42 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


which developed nothing substantial until a question was an- 
swered by a little girl who lived near the school. She said 
she had seen Bill Jonas and Phil Sheridan going in by the 
back window early that morning. 

That was enough. McNanly started for his long switch 
and Phil started for the door. Fortunately, the master in his 
hurry fell over a boy. This gave Phil a good start. The 
race was up what is known in Somerset as the “stony alley” 
until Main street was reached. 

“Catch that boy!’ yelled the master to some workmen who 
were repairing the fence where the fugitives must pass. 

Their sympathies were with the little fellow, so one of the 
men yelled back, “Catch him yourself,’ which McNanly was 
striving to do. 

Along Main street they ran, and the day being pleasant 
and the doors all open, everyone ran out to see. With coat- 
tails flying and hair streaming, the master, shouting angry 
threats, was gaining on Phil. The chase was long, for the 
schoolhouse was in “Turkey Foot” and Phil’s home just over 
the line in “Pig Foot.” 

Not half the distance had been covered when the boy’s 
strength began to fail and escape seemed impossible. He 
glanced back once to size up the situation, then sped around 
the corner into Columbus street. Here stood Sam Cassall’s 
tin shop with the door invitingly open. Panting and fright- 
ened, Phil darted in. Sam and the boy had always been 
friendly, for he had brought many buckets of cool water from 
the town pump for Cassall’s shop. 

He could just say “Hide me, Mr. Cassall, hide me; old 
McNanly is after me. Let me under that kettle.” 

There wasn‘t a moment to lose. The tinner was repair- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND : 43 


ing a large copper kettle, commonly used in those days by the 
farmers for boiling apple butter. 

“Squat down, quick,” said the tinner, and, quick as 
thought, clapped it over him. In a moment McNanly rushed 
in. The tinner was deliberately hammering a rivet almost 
against the prisoner’s head. 

“Where’s that boy that came in here?” asked the puffing 
pursuer. 

“T don’t know; he went out the back door,” kindly lied 
Cassall. 

McNanly hurried through, for, the fence being high and 
made of smooth boards, he believed he had Phil cornered. 

A thorough but fruitless search was made among the 
weeds in the little back yard. Muttering vengeance, the mas- 
ter wended his way back to school to bring some kind of order 
out of the pandemonium that you may be sure was reigning 
during his absence. 

Phil knew the master would be sober next day and his 
anger cooled off, so he walked in the next morning as if noth- 
ing had occurred. 

In after years, when he became listinguished for readiness 
of device in battle, I would think of the big copper kettle, and 
how quickly he had seen what a good place it was to deceive 
the enemy. : 

We had a playmate, George Bradley, a bound boy, living 
with one of the village physicians whose residence was near 
the schoolhouse. The doctor was tyrannical and cruel, we 
thought, to our playmate. The life of his bound boys (he 
always had one or two) excited our pity, but the crowning 
cruelty, in our boyish imagination, was the treatment Bradley 
received when he ate the pies. 

On this occasion the doctor and his wife had gone to the 


Ago: GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


country to remain over night, leaving our friend and a bound 
girl to keep house. On their return they discovered that two 
or three blackberry pies had mysteriously disappeared. The 
girl said she had seen George making many visits to the cellar 
where the pies were kept. : 

On this testimony he was accused of eating them, which, 
of course, he stoutly denied. Then the doctor’s Yankee inge- 
nuity—he was a New Englander—did not forsake him. Tak- 
ing George by the ear, he led him to his office, a few steps 
from the residence, and there compelled him to swallow an 
emetic. It had scarcely found its way down, when up it came, 
bringing the blackberry pies. The evidence was not only 
incontrovertible, but overwhelming in quantity and color, so 
George lost the pies but gained a flogging. 

When he told us how his master had treated him, our 
dislike for the doctor was intensified, so we watched for an 
opportunity to do him an evil act. A day or two after, we, 
with much apparent friendliness and many blandishments, 
coaxed his favorite dog into a stable near the schoolhouse, 
and, after considerable effort, tied an old coffeepot to his tail. 
When the door was opened, he started home with uncommon 
speed and terrific howls, and, in his haste, seeing the doors of 
Mrs. Morrell’s house open, he dashed through, upsetting a 
cradle containing twins and causing great excitement and con- 
sternation. When the mother found that her babies were not 
hurt, her fright changed to wrath and indignation towards the 
perpetrators of the cruel act. 

A search was soon started for the boys, by the doctor on 
behalf of his dog, and by the parents of the twins on behalf 
of the babies, but the guilt was not definitely fixed upon any 
one, although there was a faint suspicion that we were respon- 
sible. On this occasion the master, in closing his lecture, did 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 45 


so with a threat that he often used, which was, “I will whip 
you to death and ram you up the stove pipe.” 

I doubt if either of us would have inflicted the punishment 
upon the dog, as we were both fond of dogs, but this was the 
doctor’s dog, and a mean one. We knew that he was mean; 
we were acquainted with the general characteristics of all 
the dogs in town. 

When Phil Sheridan was about ten or twelve years old 
there was one occasion especially where he showed unusual 
strategic skill. Of all who participated in this episode, I am 
the only survivor. McDonald drifted South before the war, 
wore the gray under General Pat Cleburne, and was killed with 
him in one of those fearful charges at Franklin, Tenn.; the 
others are all gone. 

It was in 1844 that there came to our village from the 
State of New York a young lawyer by the name of John 
Manley Palmer, who during the entire Presidential campaign 
of Polk and Clay abused the Whig party with venom and 
volubility. Physically, he was an able-bodied man, whose 
features would have been passable had it not been for his 
immense mouth, which expanded from ear to ear. This pe- 
culiarity earned him the name, among the Whigs, of “Catfish” 
Palmer. 

By his untiring abuse of our party he made himself very 
obnoxious to every Whig boy in the village, and they often 
followed him on the street, keeping at a safe distance, and 
yelling “Catfish!” 

This in time waxed so exasperating that he became des- 
perate, seeking the aid of our village marshal, with threats 
of the law, whipping and shooting. 

Nine miles north of our village there was a lake which 
abounded in fish, principally catfish, loads of which were 


46 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


brought to us by wagon and sold on the street. The average 
small boy was attracted by these loads of fish, and some would 
clamber up the sides of the wagon for a closer inspection, as 
many of the wigglers would be still alive. 

One day, when sales were particularly dull, a big load 
stopped in front of the building where Palmer’s office was 
located on the second floor. The owner sat among his stock, 
somewhat discouraged for want of patronage. He was a 
strongly-built, athletic young fellow, well known in his locality 
as a fighter, and that he was an ardent Democrat was quite 
apparent, for he came from a solid Democratic township, and 
had the name of Polk and Dallas painted in huge red letters 
on his wagon. 

A bright thought struck Phil Sheridan. Here was our 
chance for revenge! Pointing up to Palmer’s window, he 
innocently remarked to the fisherman that a lawyer up in that 
office always bought catfish. He was very fond of them, and 
advised that he ask the lawyer to buy some. 

Unsuspecting, and anxious to secure a customer, the fish 
merchant jumped off the wagon with alacrity, and, asking us 
to hold his horse, started up the stairs. 

Well knowing what would soon follow, we left the ancient 
horse to take care of himself, and took a position at the foot 
of the stairs. It was but a moment after the entrance that 
we heard loud oaths intermingled with noises as of chairs, 
tables and other furniture being broken. These confused 
sounds continued for some time, when our friend the fisher- 
man came down with a torn shirt and bleeding nose, wanting 
to know of us ‘‘What in the h—1 is the matter with that feller 
up there? He must be crazy or drunk, for as soon as I asked 
him to buy catfish, he up and hit me on the nose. So I goes 
into him, and he’s got a lickin’ that he won’t forget soon. You 


‘LITTLE: PHIL CHASED BY SCHOOLMASTER 


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PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 47 


boys go for a doctor to sew up some bad cuts he’s got on his 
face. Ill learn him how to hit a feller when he’s tryin’ to 
sell fish!’ 

Ordinarily, Phil Sheridan would not have enjoyed a fight 
bloody and rough as this was, but the fierce conflict raging 
that year between the Whig boys and Palmer seemed to justify 
any strategy which would bring about the defeat of their 
blatant enemy. 

Colonel Thorn and Mr. McNanly remained with us for 
many years. Their strongest recommendation was that they 
could whip the boys into submission, and it was thought by the 
pioneers that they were just the men needed. Thorn was six 
feet three inches tall and heavy in proportion; McNanly was 
not so large, but an able-bodied man. 

Often a mother would revolt at the treatment her boy re- 
ceived, and urge the father to take steps to prevent future 
cruelties or take the boy from school, but it was seldom in 
those days that a father would pay any attention to these ap- 
peals or in any way interfere. I left Thorn’s school with 
bloody welts on my back. It was by accident that my 
mother became aware of it, through the kindly inquiry of a 
neighbor. On my return from school that day I underwent 
an examination which verified the neighbor’s information. 
Then my mother resolved that I should not go back to school. 
The question arose as to how to secure my books without being 
detected, for I feared that if seen, another whipping would be 
my fate, so I concluded to wait until after school, then hoisted 
a window and secured my property. This was my last expe- 
rience with Colonel Thorn as a master. 

A few days after leaving the school I met him on the 
street. Stopping me, he asked why I had not been at school 
for several days. Upon being told what my mother had said, 


48 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


he gave a grunt, remarking that he had “whipped Jeemes 
Smith harder than he did me and he didn’t stop,’ and that 
my mother didn’t know what was good for me. 

It might be claimed that the policy of Thorn and McNanly 
made warriors, for it was Southeastern Ohio that produced 
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and Custer; when boys their homes 
were not far distant from each other. Like Cesar, this might 
have been the “meat” that they did “feed,” but there was too 
much of the Spartan in it for me. 

The advent of the Connecticut teacher was a godsend to 
the boys of Somerset. He was kind and competent; firm in 
his methods, and uniformly pleasant, the opposite to every 
master we had ever had; so different from Shields, Shaw, 
Thorn and McNanly that its strangeness aroused our suspi- 
cions, and we doubted sometimes that we deserved such kind 
treatment. By degrees, however, we gained confidence in the 
new Yankee “master.’”’ For some time we adhered to the 
old title, but we began to see the end of the irrepressible con- 
flict btween master and scholar; we began to experience a 
feeling to which we had been strangers in all our previous 
school years. | 

This Yankee teacher was the first to introduce a black- 
board. ‘This innovation was opposed by many of our citizens 
as useless, and having a tendency to encourage the boys to 
waste their time at school’ making “picters.” Quickly fol- 
lowing the blackboard came the introduction of the studies of 
algebra and chemistry. Many were now openly indignant, 
for such studies were “useless” and “surely a waste of time.” 
Soon the whole village was divided into two factions, “black- 
board” and “anti-blackboard,” and that usually quiet place 
was all agog. Members of both parties poured forth their 
partisan arguments to the saddler, shoemaker or tailor, or 


cee ey 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F'RIEND 49 


wherever their place of nightly resort might be. Then the 
tailor or shoemaker in turn would report the words and abuse 
to the other faction, invariably making the language stronger 
and the allusions more bitter. Sometimes members of both 
factions met, then a heated discussion would result, causing 
the boys to fear that the anti-blackboard side would prevail, 
for they were invariably the loudest and angriest during the 
argument, elements which we youngsters thought of great 
weight in a debate. 

But the spirit of progress was victorious. Mr. Spellman, 
with the blackboard, and the privilege of teaching the higher 
branches, was retained. And it is with the kindest feeling 
that I still think of the ‘“Yankee Master,’ whose title we in a 
year or two changed to “teacher.” After several years spent 
in teaching, he studied medicine, married, and moved to 
Indiana. 

We lost sight of the Irish master, McNanly. I think he 
went West to seek wider fields for mental culture. 

But Colonel Thorn’s grave is located near the scenes I have 
attempted to describe, in the southwestern part of Perry 
County, among the rugged hills of the Hocking. We always 
titled him “Colonel” after his return from the Mexican war, 
where he served as a private in the 3rd Ohio Infantry. His 
commanding appearance, extreme dignity and military expe- 
rience, our town wags thought, entitled him to this rank, and 
all knew he enjoyed the distinction. 

But the old master is immortalized by General Sheridan in 
his memoirs, and will live in history when the little tombstone 
I discovered among the Hocking hills shall have crumbled 
to dust. 


CHAPTER V. 


PHIL SHERIDAN NOT A QUARRELSOME NOR A FIGHTING BOY— 
THE VILLAGE STORE—-PROMOTIONS AS CLERK—HOW PHIL | 
CAUGHT THE MARTIAL FEVER DURING THE MEXICAN 
WAR—HIS APPOINTMENT TO WEST POINT. 


a fighting boy, and it is so written in Colonel Burr’s 

history. I regret this, for it is not the truth. A 
denial of such inaccuracies is one of my principal objects in 
writing these memoirs. 

In my estimate of him as a quarrelsome boy I take myself 
for comparison, as I was about the average in these ques- 
tionable pastimes. As to good habits and proper deportment, 
he was above the average. I never heard him swear previous 
to the time he went to West Point; never heard him make an 
obscene remark, nor saw him have more than three or four 
fights, and in those he was not the aggressor. There was 
nothing effusive or gushing in his manner, but he was of dig- 
nified, pleasant demeanor. 

Colonel Burr says, in his history of General Sheridan, that 
“when he left Somerset to go to West Point he could whip 
any boy there.” This gives one the idea that he was a “bully.” 
Iam ata loss to understand how the author reached that con- 
clusion, for when he visited our village gathering material for 
his history, he came to me for information concerning Phil. 
I am sure if anything was said of his youthful and boyish 
fighting, I conveyed the opposite impression. I could not 
truthfully have done otherwise. 

50 


oe impression seems general that Phil Sheridan was 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 51 


When we were boys I often wished that I was as well be- 
haved as he was. I must confess that I had probably five 
times more trouble in the fighting line than Phil, although 
striving to avoid all the fights possible, well knowing the pa- 
ternal chastisement awaiting me should such adventures be 
discovered at home. My father, being a German, despised 
fist fighting, and held that it was less brutal to fight with 
sword or pistol than to engage in fist fights. 

Here are a few facts that disprove Coloner Burr’s opinion: 

The fact that Phil was sought after by the merchants of 
our village from the age of fourteen until he went to West 
Point is conclusive that he was not a quarrelsome boy. If he 
had a fault, it was his fondness for fun, if such can be called 
a fault in a boy. His deportment after leaving school was 
genteel and dignified. I have no doubt he would have pre- 
ferred remaining at school longer, but a contract assumed by 
his father having proved a financial failure, he was ready and 
willing to in part relieve the burden of a large family, trifling 
as the amount might be that he was able to earn. In this he 
showed a sympathy and solicitude far beyond his years. His 
sense of duty was always acute. 

I sometimes thought he would have preferred remaining 
at school for still another reason. I imagined he and the 
pretty blonde, Amanda Davis, who was in our class, were par- 
tial to each other; but this might have been only the jealous 
surmises of an oversensitive rival, for no one could ever tell 
just whom the blonde preferred, as she was too modest and 
shy to show a decided preference. 

When Phil left school he could not be called the brightest 
in our class, he was not fluent as a speaker in our debating 
societies, nor had he any talent for declaiming. His features 
were pleasing, but not handsome, excepting his eyes, a fine 


52 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


expressive brown, or hazel, of medium size, which were pleas- 
ing to look at except in anger, when they had a bad flash. The 
head was of a peculiar shape, having prominent posterior de- 
velopment. This was a cause of some trouble and inconven- 
ience to him, I remember, as while playing his hat or cap 
would often blow off, owing, probably, to some of the big. 
posterior bumps. He was also a little undersized for his age, 
as it afterward proved when conditions once developed him. 
The great sculptor, Nature, had used superior clay, but had — 
taken no pains in the modeling, and was sparing as to quan- 
tity. 

We both left school at the age of fourteen to enter village 
stores, Phil going to John Talbot’s grocery and hardware 
store, I to my uncle’s dry goods and grocery. During our 
first year in the stores an incident occurred which corroborates 
my statement as to his standing in the community as a well- 
behaved and pleasant boy, my mother, on this occasion, hav- 
ing held him up as a model. 

There was a Mrs. Laferty in Somerset who had the habit 
of coming into the store, ostensibly to make a purchase, and, 
after getting me to take down half of the stock, criticising 
the quality and price, would leave without buying anothing. 
One day my uncle entered in time to hear the closing part of 
an argument I had with Mrs. Laferty in regard to this habit 
On this occasion, when as usual I had failed to make a sale, I 
gave her a bit of my mind, which was answered by sarcasm 
as cutting as a razor, an accomplishment for which she was 
famous. 

My back was toward the door, and unknown to me my 
uncle came in in time to hear me tell her I hoped she “would 
never come back again.” After she left, there was a talk 
between my uncle and myself, which consisted mainly of a lec- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 53 


ture on his part on politeness and patience. Not being in a 
mood to hear it gracefully or meekly, another quarrel fol- 
lowed, and I left the store with no intention of returning. 

I went to my mother and related the trouble, expecting her 
approval and sympathy, but in this I was disappointed, as she 
told me to return at once and apologize to my uncle and to 
apologize to Mrs. Laferty the first time I saw her. I agreed 
to go back to the store and apologize to my uncle, but as to 
Mrs. Laferty, never, never, never would I apologize to her, for 
she had aggravated me too often. 

During this conversation my mother said: “I was down 
at Mr. Talbot’s store yesterday and made some purchases 
from Phil Sheridan; I found him, as usual, so polite and 
pleasant; he is a thorough little man. Why can’t you be as 
agreeable to your customers as he? He is always so attentive 
and considerate.” 

These words, coming under the circumstances, made an 
impression on my memory that is very distinct, and I knew 
that what she said was true. 

Phil’s first year’s salary was twenty-four dollars. Mr. 
Talbot may have been a kind man, but was of stern counte- 
nance that was never brightened by a smile; he was cold and 
punctilious. I believe I should have quarreled with him inside 
of three months, but Phil staid his year out and probably 
would have remained longer, but that before his time had 
quite expired he was offered sixty dollars a year by Mr. 
Whitehead, who had a larger store. When that contract, 
which was for a year, expired, another mercantile house, 
Messrs. Finck & Dittoe, noticing the good qualities of the 
boy, offered him one hundred and twenty dollars per year. 
There he remained until he went to West Point in the winter 


54 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


of °48-'49. The sCHONine winter I left Somerset for Cal- 
ifornia. 

While he was with Finck & Dittoe the Mexican war was 
raging. It is easy to believe that every boy was overflowing 
with martial ardor. Two full companies were raised in that 
county by Capt. Knowles and J. W. Filler, though the quota 
of the county, according to population, need not have been 
more than ten men. Both calls were promptly filled, and as 
promptly accepted by the government. In speaking of Capt. 
Knowles, I digress to relate an incident that will give the 
reader a faint idea of the rapid strides this great country is 
making and of the wonderful contrast between 1847, the Mex- 
ican War period, and the present time. 

Capt. Knowles, hearing that I intended to accompany the 
volunteers to their first camp on the banks of the Muskingum, 
eighteen miles distant, secured passage with me in my buggy 
and I remember feeling quite elated with the honor of taking 
the first captain to the war. The remainder of the company 
was taken down in farmer wagons. Nearly all of these boys 
had never seen a boat or even heard of a steam whistle. The 
nearest railroad was several hundred miles distant, pos 
in another state. 

Toward noon we arrived on Putnam Hill, our camp, on 
the bank of the Muskingum, where we remained nearly a 
week waiting for a boat. The tents were pitched on the bluff, 
one hundred and fifty feet above the water and commanding a 
fine view of the beautiful river. About this time a citizen of 
Zanesville, opposite, brought up a wagonload of bread, meat 
and other subsistence. He informed the boys that a boat 
was due that afternoon about three o’clock, from above. 

This aroused great interest, and as the time approached 
the whole company was out at the edge of the bank eagerly 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 55 


watching up stream. In due time the boat came around the 
bend two miles distant, and a shout went up: 

“There she comes! There she comes! The boat! The 
boat !’ 

At this moment the whistle blew a furious blast, warning 
the lock-keeper to prepare the locks. Immediately all was ex- 
citement. On every hand one could hear all manner of ex- 
pressions regarding the boat and “the feller on board who hol- 
lered so loud.” The first exclamation I heard was from a 
rough-looking six-footer near me: : 

“God Almighty! Listen to that feller holler!’ 

In a few minutes another blast was heard, followed by 
more expressions of wonder and admiration at the loud voice. 
I was standing near Buck Gordon, who had heard that I had 
seen boats before. It must be confessed that at that time I 
had not the strictest regard for truth, nor a fear of the evil 
one, but, instead, a dominating spirit of mischief, so I told 
Buck in reply to his question: 

“T know that feller with the big voice; he has a good job. 
He gets fifteen dollars a month with his board, washing and 
mending, just for hollering when the boat comes near a town 
and the locks.” My statement was received without a ques- 
tion by all who heard it. 

What a magical change since then! Those fields on which 
we camped, with not a house to be seen in any direction, now 
form a beautiful suburb of the city of Zanesville, with fine 
residences and well-paved streets. The valleys from which 
those rough, unsophisticated soldier boys came are now 
crossed and re-crossed by railroads, bringing out millions of 
tons of Hocking coal, and the steam whistle is heard every 
minute of the day. 

It was during this Mexican war that young MacGinnis of 


56 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


our village failed in his examination at West Point. ‘On 
MacGinnis’ return Phil wrote to our Congressman at Wash- 
ington, General Ritchie, whose home was near our village. 
Congressman Ritchie was very fond of boys; he would seldom 
pass one on the streets of our village without stopping to talk 
to him. The first bushels of apples that ripened on his farm 
he would always bring in to be divided among us. In this 
way and many others he became acquainted with our traits — 
and characteristics. A prompt reply came, inclosing the ap- 
pointment. I think the haste in filling the vacancy was par- 
tially to avoid the embarrassment of choosing among many 
candidates that he knew would be heard from soon, or it may 
have been that when he received the application from Phil, 
Gen. Ritchie was reminded of a scene he had witnessed when 
the applicant was a little boy of seven or eight years. This, 
too, may have had an influence towards obtaining a favorable — 
reply from the Congressman, as the boy had shown remark- 
able nerve and presence of mind for one so young. 

Phil’s father had a contract for grading the Zanesville and 
Maysville turnpike, and the right of way lay through the farm 
of General Ritchie, three miles east of our village. The Sheri- 
dan family moved to that locality temporarily for the greater 
convenience of Mr. Sheridan. 

In those days all this work was done with horses and carts, 
the gang of laborers digging up and throwing the dirt into 
the carts to be hauled away. Phil was always about, trying 
to make himself useful to his father, especially riding the 
horses to and from the work. A new animal had been pur- 
chased; he was spirited, which made the boy very anxious to 
ride him to the barn. When noon came he asked his father’s 
permission to ride the new horse. The assent was given with 
a strict admonition not to ride faster than a walk; he must be 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 57 


very cautious. He was lifted on, but had not gone far before 
something frightened the horse into a run. The loose harness 
thrashed him about the legs until he became completely be- 
yond control, dashing toward the barn at a furious pace, the 
rider vainly pulling and sawing with all his strength. 

General Ritchie, in an adjoining field, saw the race and 
believed, as did the others, that certain death awaited the boy 
on entering the barn, because the entrance was so low that if 
he rode erect his head would come in contact with the upper 
frame. Just in time Phil threw himself forward and side- 
ways, closely hugging the horse’s neck, and passed safely in, 
but there was not an inch to spare. The hugging position also 
saved his life after entering, for the sudden halt would have 
dashed him forward with sufficient force to have broken his 
head or neck. 

Those who witnessed the runaway hastened to the barn, 
expecting to find a dead boy, but were met by the future cav- 
alryman hurrying out smilingly to meet his father and assure 
him of his safety. 

So the failure of MacGinnis was the “pebble that changed 
the river,” the turning point in Sheridan’s life, and had much 
to do with the most eventful period of our nation’s history. 

After the receipt of the appointment you can imagine 
there was a commotion in the cottage on the back street, with 
earnest work on the part of the boy to prepare himself for 
the examination. The New England teacher, Mr. Spellman, 
had moved to Indiana. Thorn was still in Somerset, but 
could not teach algebra, nor did he desire that attainment. So 
there was no one excepting Mr. Clark, the county surveyor, 
who lived two miles west of us, who was competent as a 
tutor. I have no doubt that during this period of preparation 
Phil experienced more fear and apprehension as to the result 


58 - GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


of the examination on his arrival at West Point than he ever 
felt when going into his greatest battles. He had not the 
strongest faith that he could surpass MacGinnis. 

Many contradictory stories have been given publicity from 
time to time as to the manner of Phil’s apopintment to West 
Point. This is the true narrative; all others are imaginary. 
There is a romantic tale of a George Binckley, who, when he 
saw the grief and disappointment of his boyhood friend, Phil 
Sheridan, at not receiving the appointment, which was given 
to Binckley, gave up his cherished prospects and turned the 
appointment over to Sheridan. Another claim, with as much 
truth as the above, is the story of Rear Admiral Parker, late 
counsel for Admiral Schley, who says that he failed to secure 
the appointment by reason of his youth. That his father 
looked about Somerset for a suitable boy to take his place, and 
finally, after two years coaxing, prevailed upon a young Irish 
lad of humble parentage to go. That lad was Phil Sheridan. 
No one was in any way instrumental in the appointment of 
Sheridan to West Point but MacGinnis, who failed, Phil him- 
self, who applied, and our Congressman, Gen. Tom Ritchie. 

Capt. Henry E. Filler, now of Columbus, Ohio, was 
Phil Sheridan’s first commander. He belonged to the Kosci- 
usko Braves, Filler being captain. The boys were from ten to 
fourteen years old. Green uniforms, carrying a lance in- 
stead of a gun, Phil was the youngest and smallest. This 
was the boy of whom Gen. Grant afterward said, “The world 
never saw a greater soldier than General Sheridan.” I was 
not living in Somerset when Phil started for West Point, 
therefore I quote from ‘‘Filler’s Reminiscences of Somerset.” 
“He entered the institution measuring about five feet six inches, 
with a long trunk and short extremities, standing erect on 
small feet; widening out toward the shoulders, on which 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND | 59 


poised a well-shaped head not unlike the little Corsican cor- 
poral, and filled with much the same quality of grey matter; 
brown eyes, straight nose, beneath which was a handsome 
mouth and well-developed chin and jaw, both indicating will 
and determination. His voice was not musical, rather metal- 
lic, yet remarkably pleasing. Address warm and cordial to 
those he knew well, the very personification of one free from 
deceit and treachery, the soul of honor.” 


fue STORY OF OLD‘ BINK:: 


The Man Who Gave Sheridan to the World—A Mining Camp 
Romance—Sad Life of the Schoolboy Who Surrendered 
His Cadetship to “Little Phil”—The Touching Meeting 
of the General and the Tramp—Life Is a Lottery, Indeed. 


In an unmarked grave at the base of a great lone rock, 
within vision’s range of Pike’s Peak, lie buried the remains of 
the man who gave General Phil Sheridan to America and to 
history. 

The facts contained in this narrative may sound like a 
romance. They have never until now appeared in print, 
although known to hundreds of persons both in Ohio and in 
Colorado. The peculiar circumstances by which I became pos- 
sessed of the strange story and my connection with it, have 
rendered my task a delicate one, although for several years 
I have been constantly solicited to make them public. Death 
having removed the two leading figures of the drama, I have 
at last consented to relate the various details of a pathetic his- 
tory as they came within my personal knowledge during a 
period of fifteen years. The facts contained in the story can 
be verified by hundreds of citizens of Colorado. They reveal 
a strange blending of drama and tragedy, and cast no discredit 
upon the memory of one of the great military figures of the 
Civil War. 

I first met George Binckley in 1874, in an embryo mining 
camp perched high upon the precipitous slopes of the Sierras 
San Juan, in Southwestern Colorado. How he got into camp 


60 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


no one knew, and no one inquired. The search for gold was 
then too keen to permit of idle curiosity concerning your 
neighbor. He must have climbed the long, toilsome and zig- 
zag burro trail leading from Del Norte to Summitville on foot, 
for he was wan and weak from hunger and fatigue when he 
appeared at our campfire one night and begged for something 
to eat. He presented an uncanny picture set in uncanny sur- 
roundings. Tall and gaunt, he stood before us as a ghost, 
while an unkempt mass of whitened hair fell down over his 
stooping shoulders, mingling with a beard that fell almost to 
his waist, leaving visible only a little circle of his face. From 
underneath his shaggy eyebrows his eyes gleamed like two 
great embers of a once living and consuming fire. His clothes 
were in tatters, and his limbs trembled with nervousness and 
fatigue, but his voice had a deep, mellow ring that despite 
an undercurrent of pain and weariness bespoke the training 
of its once masterful owner. 


HE WAS ‘“‘OLD BINK.”’ 


“T’m old Bink, and I’m hungry,” was his laconic salutation 
as he drew up before the campfire and calmly surveyed the 
half dozen rough miners who sat about the blaze smoking 
their pipes. It was uttered in the voice of one who had been 
worsted in an encounter with fate and was indifferent as to the 
result. 

With the proverbial hospitality of frontiersmen and miners 
we placed before the stranger an abundance of the rough but 
substantial food, found in the camp kettles, and he ate raven- 
ously. When he had satisfied his hunger a pair of blankets 
was given him, and rolling up in them beneath the drooping 
branches of a mighty pine our strange and taciturn visitor 
soon fell asleep. We resumed our pipes and after a brief dis- 
cussion of our guest agreed that he was a broken-down pros- 
pector and that he was welcome. Then we crept beneath our 
blankets and dreamed under the stars of fabulous veins of 
gold, while our ears heard not the thunder of the mountain 
torrents leaping down the seams and sides of Del Norte peak 
to join the foaming current of the Rio Alamosa. 

And that was how “Old Bink” came to our camp, perched 
like a speck between a rim of pines and the eternal snow. We 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 61 


knew not whence he came, neither did we care. We had the 
broken-down pilgrim in our care and would shelter and feed 
him. In a day or two he was a fixture, and little by little 
dropped his impenetrable reserve. During the day he would 
wander along the mountain sides and up deep gulches looking 
for indications of minerals. He made himself useful in cook- 
ing our rude meals. He was conversant not only with geology 
and metallurgy, but knew every mountain plant and flower by 
name. It was “Old Bink” who, when one of the boys was 
stricken down with mountain fever, sought out in the darkest 
gulches the mountain sage and gave relief to our comrade. 
He found a bed of tender wild onions and added them to our 
limited menu of bacon and flapjacks. He staked a claim, 
and, while it was worthless, we would have defended it for 
him against jumpers at the risk of our lives. “Old Bink” 
was our mascot. We wouldn’t have taken the richest lode 
on South Mountain for him, wretched as he had made himself 
by a life of wandering and dissipation. 

And then one night he told to us the story of his life. We 
didn’t believe it then, but it had served to while away a weary 
hour between supper and blankets, and we forgave him. A 
pack train from Del Norte had brought up to camp a fresh lot 
of supplies, including a keg of whisky. The latter article was 
the key which unlocked “Old Bink’s” lips. While talking his 
eyes took on a far-away look, as if they were resting on green 
pastures, but his voice became vibrant with manhood as he 
talked about himself and Phil Sheridan. I could not attempt 
to give you the story in his own language, because between 
me now and that summer night episode, high up on the slopes 
of the Sierras San Juan, nearly eighteen years have intervened. 

“OLD BINK’S”’ STORY. 

His name, he said, was George Binckley, and he was born 
in Ohio, his family being an influential and wealthy one. Phil 
Sheridan was his schoolmate, and although Phil’s mother was 
very poor, the two boys were inseparable friends and compan- 
ions. They had grown up together, and their affection for 
each other was as that of David and Jonathan. Then one day 
young Binckley’s uncle, who was then in Congress, secured 
for him an appointment to the West Point Military Academy. 
Wild with delieht, he rushed across the way to Mrs. Sheri- 
dan’s humble home to tell Phil the news.. The sturdy young 
Trish lad burst into tears. preva eg 


62 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


“T’m glad of it, George,’ he at last found voice to say. 
“But, oh, don’t I wish I could go, too! I’ve always set my 
heart on being a soldier, but now’—and the youthful Phil 
again gave vent to his emotions. “Old Bink” hurried over 
this part of his narrative. He talked to Phil for a time and 
tried to comfort him, with what effect the sequel disclosed. 
He astonished his parents and almost paralyzed his uncle by 
declining the appointment. He didn’t want to be a soldier 
and Phil Sheridan did. On this rock he stood immovable. 
The world already knows part of the result. The Irish lad, 
the friend of George Binckley, went to West Point. His his- 
tory is a part of that of the nation. The hero of Winchester 
and a hundred other battlefields was made possible by a friend’s 
magnanimity and self-abnegation. 

And Binckley, what of him? Oh, there wasn’t much to 
tell, he declared. He had gone through college with honors; 
had been admitted to the bar, had tried journalism and had 
printed several newspapers in Iowa and Nebraska; had drank 
whisky and indulged in the use of opium until worn out; he 
had quit fighting and was now drifting with the tide toward 
sunset and night and silence. He had drifted with other 
debris of wretched humanity into the mountains, and that 
was all. He was still loyal to Phil. Did Phil remember his 
old boyhood friend and benefactor? Oh, yes. General Sher- 
idan, he said, had repeatedly offered to provide for him, but 
he was too far gone to go back. That was all. “Phil was 
all right, and “Old Bink’ was all right, and so what’s the dif- 
ference?’ Having delivered himself of this oracular bit of 
optimism, our mascot took another drink of whisky and fell 
asleep in his blankets. After deciding that “Old Bink” was 
an entertaining liar, the camp followed his example and re- 
tired to rest. When bantered next day about his Phil Sher- 
idan “romance” ‘Old Bink” reiterated his statement, and, 
finally growing angry, relapsed into sullen silence, and the 
subject was dropped. 

The summer waned, and lower and lower crept the daz- 
zling rim of snow down the mountainside. Already the 
moaning pines gave notice in their dumb way of approaching 
winter. The camp, high up on the spur of the mountain, 
was abandoned. ‘Old Bink’ went with the rest of us to Del 
Norte, and there we lost sight of him. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 63 


THREE YEARS AFTER, 


Three years later I stood on Sixteenth street in the city of 
Denver. It was a gala day in the capital city of the young 
centennial State. The streets were crowded by a restless, 
shouting, pushing mass of humanity, and flags and banners 
streamed from every window and every housetop. General 
Sheridan, then in command of the Missouri Division of the 
army, was in the city, and Colorado was also there to honor 
one of Grant’s greatest Lieutenants. Denver was wild with 
enthusiasm, and it was with difficulty that I could maintain 
a position on the curb which commanded a view of the ap- 
proaching parade. Everybody was determined to see Phil 
Sheridan. The presence of President Grant himself could not 
have evoked a more spontaneous ovation. Sheridan was the 
idol of those irrepressible frontiersmen and mountaineers, 
many of whom had followed his fortunes from ’61 to ’65, and 
had fought under his banner in all his campaigns until peace 
came with Appomattox. 

There was a blare of bugles, a cavalcade of mounted po- 
licemen, a brass band and then the carriage containing the 
little military chieftain, turned the corner and came down the 
street toward the spot where I was standing. Then a fierce, 
wild outburst from 10,000 throats tore the atmosphere into 
tatters. Once more and once again the ear-splitting yell 
drowned the brazen notes of the band and then died away. 
The crowd was too anxious to see Sheridan to waste any 
more time in splitting its lungs into fibers. 

The carriage was within twenty-five feet of me when I 
was startled by hearing a strangely familiar voice on my 
right cry out: 

“Phil! oh, Phil!’ 

I turned and recognized “Old Bink.” A little more hag- 
gard and bent, a little longer and grayer locked, with his 
great gleaming eyes shining like twin stars. The mascot of 
Del Norte stood leaning forward in the crowd, among which 
he towered like an aged giant, waving his long, gaunt arms 
wildly at the passing carriage. There was a hungry appeal in 
the voice that bordered upon supplication and caused hundreds 
of eyes to turn from the carriage and its distinguished occu- 
pant to the strange-looking speaker. 


64 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


*Phil! oh, Phil?” 

General Sheridan heard the cry this time, and looking 
quickly around began to scan the massed faces, as if searching 
for some one. 

“Phil, Phil! it’s me; 1t’s Bink!” and again the arms O11 
old tramp went up into the air like the sails of a windmill. 
He had caught Sheridan’s eye. 

And then the Denver populace witnessed something it did 
not understand, and about which it talked for weeks. It saw 
General Sheridan stop the carriage, leap quickly to the street, 
force his way through the crowd, place his arms around the 
neck of our unkempt old tramp and kiss him fair in the face. 
Then he led that miserable-looking tramp to the carriage, 
placed him beside himself, and the parade was _ resumed. 
Everybody who witnessed the scene accepted as an explana- 
tion the statement that it was one of Sheridan’s old soldiers. 
But I, who had listened to and laughed to scorn “Old Bink’s” 
story at the camp fire in the Sierras San Juan, knew better. 
I knew that Binckley was the man who had given Sheridan 
to history. George and Phil had met again. What passed 
between them must be written by other pens than mine. I 
know only what I know. 

Several days afterward I again met “Old Bink.” Sher- 
idan and his staff had returned to Chicago. Bink wore a 
new suit of clothes, but looked as if he was just recovering 
from a protracted debauch. In answer to my look of sur- 
prise and inquiry, he explained: 

“No, I wouldn’t go back East with him. He gave mea 
stake, and I’ve blowed most of it in already. I ain’t fit to 
associate with Phil any more nohow, and [ ain’t going to dis- 
grace him. He wanted me to go home with him, but I 
couldn’t live there. I’m off for the mines tomorrow. Phil’s 
all right and ‘Old Bink’s’ all right, and so what’s the differ- 
ence?” 

He turned his eyes in a wistful way toward a purple bank 
of clouds resting on the far-off peaks of the Rockies, and I 
noticed that he had aged rapidly since I had known him in the 
San Juan region. To further questions he gave evasive an- 
swers, and we parted. I never saw “Old Bink” again. 

A GRAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
A year and a half ago I was again in Colorado, after an 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 65 


absence of fourteen years. I had been engaged in investigat- 
ing the stability of a large dam being erected on the headwaters 
of Cherry Creek, about thirty miles south of Denver, near the 
summit of the divide, and was returning to Castle Rock Station 
late in the evening, accompanied by a citizen of the latter place. 
Our route lay over a high “hog back” or divide between 
Cherry and Willow Creeks, and our ponies made slow prog- 
ress. We had reached the top of the descent leading down 
a mile or more to the little mountain village. The sun was 
just setting behind Gray’s Peak to the south, and forty miles 
distant Pike’s Peak stood lonely in its grandeur, thrusting an 
icy finger far upward into the regions of eternal frost. Di- 
rectly opposite the outer slopes of the Mosquito range lay 
concealed in mist and shadow, while a thousand feet below 
ran the waters of Willow Creek. To the right of our trail 
and directly overhanging the narrow valley Castle rock rose, 
naked and grim, like a giant anvil five hundred feet in the air. 
It overlooked the foothills for miles around, and had given 
its name to the railroad hamlet nestled at its base. The 
grandeur of the scene had made us both silent for a time, but 
just as we rounded an escarpment of the huge rock my guide 
and companion broke the spell: 

“Do you see that grave over there just under the rock?” 

“Yes; what of it?’ I was in no mood for talking. 

“Queer duck planted over there. Buried by the town as 
a pauper. Tramped into Castle Rock one day last summer 
and just took down and died. Queer old duck. Whisky and 
morphine did him up.” 

“Lots of fellows go that way. Nothing queer about that,” 
I replied. 

“Ves; but he was no fool, and sometimes he’d talk like a 
scholar. And then he'd keep insistin’ that he had rich chum- 
mies. Guess he was weak in his upper story. Morphine 
had clean et his brains up. I set up with him one night— 
jist before he passed in his chips, and he all at onct set up in 
bed and hollers out: ‘Phil, oh, Phil!’ so pitiful like that I 
felt sorry for the old tramp. ’Spect it was some brother or 
pard or something. He died next day, and we found a foty- 
graph of a military-lookin’ cuss in his pocket. It was so 
greasy and dirty we couldn’t tell who it was.” 

“Did the tramp give his name?” I excitedly inquired. 


r : on a “s 


id tie 


lies 


CHAPTER VI. 


PHIL HOME FROM WEST POINT—-KINDNESS TO A DOG—ON 
THE FRONTIER—FIGHTING INDIANS—COMPLIMENTED BY 
GENERAL SCOTT. 


rapidly by ere I drifted back to the little village on the 

hill. Phil had graduated, and I found him there mak- 
ing a visit while on his way to Texas to join his regiment, 
the 1st Infantry. 


Glare years with all their attendant changes had sped 


An incident that occurred at our first meeting may appear 
trifling in the history of any man, but in my opinion it serves 
more truthfully to show the promptings of the heart than acts 
of a more public character. Sheridan is believed by many, 
who have never known the other side of his nature, as the 
“rough rider,” cruel, and lacking in the finer instincts, and 
|this induces me to narrate the circumstance. 

A few days after my return he called to see me. I was 
convalescing from a spell of fever contracted when crossing 
the Isthmus. After a long talk concerning California, which 
was then a wonderland and a returned “‘forty-niner”’ an ob- 
ject of great interest, he proposed that we take a walk to 
where the projected steam mill was to be built at the foot of 
the hill. The establishing of this mill was an enterprise of 
much moment and great interest. 

My favorite dog started with us, and Sheridan was at- 
tracted by the exuberance of his joy in being allowed to go, 
or it might have been the dog’s handsome, intelligent face 
that attracted him. He made overtures of friendship, calling 

67 


68 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


the dog by name and extending his hand to caress him; but, 
as with every stranger, this was resented with a growl and 
a show of teeth which prevented further advances on Phil’s 
part. We started for the millsite, and the dog becoming the 
subject of our conversation, I related what had occurred a 
few days before on my return to Somerset. 

I had left Jack with my father more than three years be- 
fore, and when he discovered that I could not be found about 
the house or in the street, he became inconsolable, refusing to 
eat, and pining away until he was but a skeleton. At the end 
of a month, however, he commenced to eat sparingly, and in 
two months was himself again in form, though wanting in 
former life and spirits. The recognition on my return was 
one of the most remarkable cases of dog memory I had ever 
seen. My father, having heard of my arrival in New York, 
could approximate my return home, so he walked out to the 
Pike a few miles to meet me. I recognized him, preceded by 
Jack, some distance ahead. When the dog came to the buggy 
I requested the driver to stop, as I wished to test his mem- 
ory. I succeeded in attracting his attention, and when with- 
in reach attempted to put my hand on him, a familiarity he 
never allowed a stranger. He resented it with a growl. I 
said, “Jack, don’t you know me?” His ears at once became 
erect, and he looked me steadily in the face. I repeated the 
words again, and with a leap he was in my arms, whining 
and licking my face and hands, beside himself with joy. 
When my father came up Jack appeared jealous of our affec- 
tionate meeting and insisted on being between us and being 
taken up in my arms. This being denied, he placed his paws 
against my heart, whining and moaning in the most eloquent 
dog language. 

By the time my dog story was finished we had arrived at 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 69 


the excavation made for the engine room. We found it filled 
with muddy water from a recent rain, and on the surface were 
floating chips and other debris. While living on the Mus- 
kingum I had taught Jack to bring objects from the stream, 
and now he saw an opportunity to remind me that he had not 
forgotten his early training. Voluntarily plunging in, he 
would bring something out and lay it at our feet. This, I 
discovered, was dangerous to the white duck trousers which 
we were both wearing, the danger arising through his shak- 
ing the water from his shaggy coat on coming to land. Being 
obliged to watch constantly was interfering with our conver- 
sation, so I told the dog to lie down and not enter the pond 
again. He promptly obeyed. As Phil related his experiences 
at West Point, giving me full particulars of a very serious 
altercation he had had with another cadet, for which he had 
been suspended for a year, I became deeply interested. My 
father had written me something of the trouble and suspen- 
sion, but not the full particulars. We were absorbed in this 
conversation when the dog entered the water again, and com- 
ing out unobserved, stood near us and gave the accustomed 
shake, laying down a stick at my feet. That shake changed 
our white duck trousers from spotless to spotted ones. No 
magician could have transformed them more quickly or com- 
pletely. | 

For Sheridan’s sake I was mortified beyond expression. 
As soon as I could speak, I apologized for the accident. To 
my relief, he had the politeness and forbearance to laugh at 
it and say it was nothing, as he could get home unseen through 
the fields and change the garment, and that it would involve 
only a few moments’ time. Upon concluding my regrets, I 
commenced looking around for a suitable switch with which 
to punish the disobedient dog. When called, he came up, 


70 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


evidently aware, from his downcast look, that he had done 
wrong. Poor Jack! When he came to my feet he rolled 
over with a look of abject humility and sorrow. This melted 
Phil’s heart, for when he saw what was about to occur, he 
said: “What are you going to do? I hope you will not 
whip him!’ 

At this Jack stood up and watched me pitifully until I 
had finished stating as my reason for punishing him that he 
had been indulged by my father and mother during my-ab- 
sence and that a slight whipping would be of benefit to him. 
Sheridan’s reply was: 

“Don’t do that; I could not think of your whipping him 
for the oversight. You should remember how devoted he is 
to you; how he loves you; how he remembered you when you 
returned.” 

During this appeal the dog looked steadfastly at Phil, 
then he turned to watch me as I gave additional reasons why 
he should be punished. Then followed a stronger plea to 
save the dog, Phil saying that “man or brute is liable to over- 
sight and forgetfulness which sometimes seem disobedience.” 

While these arguments were being made, Jack, with a sad 
face, would look at us in turn as each one spoke. To spare 
Sheridan’s feelings I said I would not whip the dog, and 
threw the stick away; then, with every feature, the dog ex- | 
pressed joy and gratitude. He walked over to Phil and licked 
his hand. He well knew the import of the switch being cast 
away, and I am sure understood the substance of what had 
been said for and against him, and to whom he should be 
grateful, for, before or after, I never saw him lick a stranger’s 
hand. 

As mentioned before, the above incident is related not that 
it is of special interest, but to throw a side light on the hu- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 71 


mane instincts of Phil Sheridan. He may have been relent- 
less in war, but his nature had another side as gentle as a 
girl’s. 

Not many days after this dog episode came the Fourth of 
July, 1853. This was the last time Phil celebrated that anni- 
versary at his home village. It was unusually gay and festive 
that year in the quiet old place, for the survey was being made 
for a railroad through that part of the country, and this 
brought a corps of civil engineers and their assistants who 
made our hotels their headquarters for several months. 
Rides, parties and excursions were the social order of the 
day, and girls were in great demand, for the railroad men 
made inroads on our claims. 

A carriage drive to Lydy’s rocks, a wild, romantic glen 
about five miles away, was arranged for the Fourth of July. 
Phil had his conveyance secured, but when he looked around 
for a girl he found them all engaged. A day or two before 
the event we met, and he narrated his gloomy prospect, which 
was the greater disappointment by reason of its being in all 
probabality the last time he would ever see the wild gorge. 

I happened to be so situated just then that I could relieve 
him, and said: 

“So far as I am concerned, you can have my girl, that 
bright, pretty one I introduced you to a few days ago.” 

He remembered her, but could not quite understand the 
sacrifice I was making for him, so asked the cause of my un- 
common generosity. 

“The situation is this, Phil,’ I said. ‘‘We had a little 
fuss a few days ago; the quarrel is still on and a coolness 
exists that is embarrassing to us both. I doubt if she would 
consent to go with me, and even if she did I would not go. 
I am sure she would love to go, and I hope she can, but I can- 


72 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


not propose it under the circumstances. I hope you will take 
her, and should you find it necessary to mention my name, 
you may say that I do not intend to go.” 

Thanking me, he hurried away. The next day I saw him 
with his new girl, happy and lively. 

While he was on this visit to our village there occurred — 
an accident that nearly deprived this country of the greatest 
cavalry general the world has ever known. 

Sheridan heard considerable about a very fiery racehorse 
quartered at the livery stable. He was told few could ride 
him; that he had been the death of one, and had thrown a 
score of others. When he heard this, a desire seized him to 
ride that horse. 

This was the story I heard. I did not see the ride. 

With some difficulty the consent of the owner was ob- 
tained—for prudential reasons he hesitated to be accessory to 
another death. It was noised about that Phil Sheridan was 
going to ride John Dean’s “quarter” horse (so-called because 
his racing distance was usually a quarter-mile.) This at- 
tracted more than the usual number of loafers that always can 
be found about a village hotel. The groom brought the horse 
out and assisted Phil to mount. . A half-drunken farmer drove 
past just as Phil was entering the saddle and, not understand- 
ing the situation, gave the impatient horse a touch with his 
whip. This caused him to plunge as if shot from a cannon, 
freed him from the groom, and started him up the street like 
a thunderbolt. By this time Sheridan had almost lost his in- 
secure seat, but tightly clinging, he gradually reseated himself, 
and the spectators concluded the worst was over, as victory 
seemed to be with the rider. But he was not yet securely seat- 
ed when the maddened animal commenced leaping high in the 
air and coming down on stiff legs, known in the West as 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND ri: 


“bucking.” After a few leaps of this kind, horse and rider 
were seen to separate, Phil flying forward over the horse’s 
head, striking with his head and breast upon the limestone 
road and there remaining. 

There was a wild rush by the hotel loafers to learn the 
result and assist the young man who was lying so quietly on 
the bed of stone. He was found limp and lifeless, and in this 
condition was carried to the nearest house, that of Mrs. Denni- 
son. A messenger was sent for a surgeon, but the general im- 
pression was that a physician’s services would be useless, as 
his neck was supposed to be broken. The surgeon arrived 
and, making an examination, said the neck was not broken 
nor were any bones that he could discover. The most that 
he feared from the looks of the breast and abdomen were 
internal injuries, but time alone could determine that. 

After remaining unconscious for some time, Phil opened 
his eyes and faintly asked the person nearest him, “Where is 
Het: 

The person spoken to supposed Phil delirious, and asked 
him, “Whom do you mean, Phil?” 

“Why, the quarter-horse!” 

The man said, “Oh, he was heard of last about five miles 
from here, and was still running.” 

This brought a smile to the pale face of the would-be 
rider, and he closed his eyes again. Toward evening he had 
improved so much that he was taken home. With a mother’s 
eareful nursing he was able to be out some days after, but 
with a very sore breast and abdomen. 

When the limit of his leave of absence drew near he was 
still unfit to travel, but insisted on starting. 

When heard from afterward he had joined his regiment in 
Texas. His breast and abdomen were covered with boils, and 


74, GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


to this external eruption he attributed his life and restored 
health. 

I did not see the young soldier who failed to ride John 
Dean’s quarter-horse for several years. When we met again 
we were both soldiers. From Texas his regiment was ordered 
to California, and for some time was stationed at Fort Read- 
ing. I was famiilar with that locality, having lived there for 
two years. When I heard of him and of what he was doing, 
or had done, I experienced feelings which I am ashamed to 
confess. I was filled with fiendish gratification, and read the 
news with malicious glee. On the opposite side of the Sacra- 
mento River from where we had lived were the homes and 
haunts of the worst type of Indians in this country, except- 
ing the Apaches. It is impossible for me to describe the de- 
graded, treacherous, daring, blood-thirsty Pitt river Indians 
of 1852 and 1853. They robbed our camp, often killed our 
horses and mules, and finally killed my partner. You may 
imagine it was joyful news to me when I read that Phil Sheri- 
dan’s command had a fight with them and gave them a com- 
plete thrashing. The report said it was a severe blow to the 
tribe, but I did not hear how many he sent to their happy 
hunting-ground. It is strange that Sheridan’s first fight 
should be with an enemy who had killed and robbed citizens 
from his home county. 

We next heard of his whipping the Spokane and Klamath 
Indians. For his gallantry and skill in these battles he was 
complimented in general orders by General Scott. 


CHAPTER VIL. 


THE WAR CLOUDS DARKEN—VOLUNTEERING—GENERAL SHERI- 
DAN’S RETURN—VOLUNTEERS’ GOODBYE—-CAMP CHASE— 
CINCINNATI—KENTUCKY—CAMP DICK ROBINSON—GEN- 
ERAL SHERMAN—EAST TENNESSEEANS. 


HEN the threats and growlings of war came in 

Vi 1860 Phil Sheridan was a second lieutenant in the 

4th Infantry, stationed in Oregon. Far away it 
was then, it taking a summer’s travel to reach it, so only by 
slow mail could he trace the war cloud as it gathered and 
threatened in the East. I have no recollection of hearing him 
express any opinion as to its duration or result after he heard 
of the actual conflict. In Ohio, few if any predicted a war 
so protracted or bloody. 

I can see now that both the North and South were disap- 
pointed and mistaken. The North seemed to close its eyes to 
existing conditions the first year. It took that year to fully 
areuse it, although volunteering was prompt and spirited from 
the beginning. The masses of the South and many of its 
leaders were ignorant as to our resources and patriotism; they 
had been taught to despise the institutions of the North, es- 
pecially our regard for manual labor. 

The general opinion in the South was that with us the 
striving for money overshadowed every other impulse; that 
we would not allow the dissolution of the Union to interfere 
with our money getting. It was asserted of the North that 
it would sacrifice its health, happiness and soul for wealth. 
Southerners believed that if patriotism and money were bal- 
anced in the Northern heart, money would outweigh. 

75 


76 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


I am sure both sides were surprised when they beheld the 
rush from farm and factory, school and store at the first call 
to arms. The South thought if the conflict did come it would | 
be short, sharp and successful, and would soon end in the rec- 
ognition of the Confederacy. Southerners argued this because 
of the fact that the South at that time had the most distin- 
guished officers, and a majority of the regular army was sta- 
tioned in Southern forts; also, they were better prepared for 
war, as they had been expecting it. : 

These impressions I gathered from conversations with 
their citizen-prisoners, and from letters left in abandoned 
houses on our march to the Gulf States. While talking on 
this subject I asked a Southern officer if they thought we had 
lost all patriotism and would tamely submit to let the Union 
go. He replied, “Oh, no; but we thought you had become 
a commercial people while we remained military.” 

When the mails arrived in Oregon we can easily believe 
that they found Lieutenant Sheridan in a fever of excitement 
and anxiety. One of these mails brought him news of the 
unfortunate battles of Bull Run. We can imagine the burn- 
ings of his heart and the yearnings of his soul to fly to those 
scenes. Had he had the black horse then he might have been 
tempted to make the ride, but the soldier must wait until he is 
ordered. To him weeks must have appeared as months, and 
months as years, until the welcome order came; it had been 
traveling on leaden wings, but it came and he was happy. It 
ordered him to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri. By this time so 
many whose sympathies were with the South had resigned 
from the army that he held the rank of Captain. At this point 
I desire to call the attention of the reader to the fact that 
when Sheridan was only a capain without aid or influence 
there were not less than one hundred and fifty generals in the 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 77 


Union army, but from the time he had his first opportunity to 
display his genius and value at Booneville, Miss., his career 
was meteoric, one brilliant victory after another, when he 
was in command. 

On his way from New York to Jefferson Barracks he 
stopped to see his parents. He had not been in Somerset since 
his attempt to ride the wild racehorse, to which I have pre- 
viously referred. Henry Zortman, a farmer, who knew Phil 
when a boy, told me after the war that he called to see Phil 
during that visit. His principal object was to get the opinion 
of a soldier as to the result of the war and as to what duty 
he thought he would be assigned. To the first question Phil 
answered : 

“This government is too great and good to be destroyed.” 

To the second question he said: 

“T do not know what I shall be assigned to do, nor where 
they will send me, but if you ever hear from me, I want you 
to hear that I am doing my duty to the best of my ability.” 

At the time Phil made his visit many of his friends and 
playmates, I among the number, had already gone to the front. 

During that summer of 1861, the maelstrom of war was 
daily extending the circle of its influence. The North was 
now ablaze with the realization of actual war. In the Spring: 
it had drawn mainly from the ranks of restless young men 
who were seeking adventure—those were the “three months’ ” 
men—but during the summer and fall men of more mature 
years and settled habits were volunteering. I felt myself drift- 
ing into the current, but could not see my way clear to go, hav- 
ing a mother almost blind and a father very old and feeble 
living with me. Besides, how could I leave my young and 
pretty wife? There seemed many obstacles in my way. Then, 
again, my business was satisfactory; indeed, I was comfort- 


78 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


able and happy until I found myself unceasingly thinking of 
the war and the condition of the country. Again and again 
did I banish these thoughts from my mind, for I believed I 
could not leave the responsibilities and attractions of home. 
For a week I was torn by efforts to down war-thoughts, but, 
like Banquo’s ghost, they “would not down.” I found myself 
becoming dissatisfied and unhappy, and unfit for business. 
Captain Jackson had just returned with his company from 
the ‘‘three months’ ”’ service, the first call for volunteers, and 
immediately began recruiting a company for three years or 
during the war. J. W. Martin, a bright, energetic young 
Irishman, had received an order from Governor Tod author- 
izing him to raise a company, but as recruits came in slowly, 
each only partially succeeded. Just then a proposition came 
from someone to consolidate, which made one company almost 
full. | | | 
At this stage I joined and felt great mental relief, but 
now new troubles confronted me as soon as I had signed my 
name. How was I to go home and tell my wife and parents 
and dispose of my business without too much sacrifice? These 
were my greatest troubles. The first should be done within 
an hour, the latter within two weeks, as the company, being 
nearly full, would soon be completed and ordered away. 
With a heavy heart I went home to discharge the first em- 
barrassing duty. With preliminary remarks on the duties of 
an American citizen, etc., I finally found courage to tell her 
what I had done. When she found that I was serious and 
had enlisted, I shall never forget the expression of her fine 
gray eyes, for they spoke the emotions of her heart though her 
sensitive lips seemed stricken dumb. Looking at me with pale, 
reproachful face, when she had somewhat recovered, she asked 
me why I desired to leave her, and why the unmarried men 


UNVEILING OF THE SHERIDAN MONUMENT 
Somerset, Ohio 


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PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 79 


should not go first. Those questions were difficult to answer 
to a wife. I could only say that I had no rest, that the war 
would not last long, and that in a year, we should all be at 
home with eachswther again. Whether or not to appeal to 
her love of the Union, I did not know, for, her parents having 
been Southerners, she might feel indulgent toward the Con- 
federacy ; besides, she was a model housewife and home-loving 
woman, and never became enthusiastic over any public ques- 
tion. 

I then spoke of the additional care and responsibility my 
aged parents would be, but she did not shrink, and bravely told 
me she would do everything possible for their comfort. Until 
this crisis came I had never had occasion to realize how brave 
and patriotic she was, nor did I fully realize her self-denial 
and courage until some years later, when adversity and sick- 
ness almost overwhelmed us. 

My mother appeared to dread my going much more than 
did my wife, for my parents still had vivid recollections of 
the first Napoleonic wars, when they were children in Ger- 
many—of a great battle that was fought near their home and 
the devastation and destruction that followed. However, they 
finally agreed that it was but my duty to go. 

The company was full at last, and now came the organ- 
ization. Captain Jackson had the greater number of names, 
and had had three months’ actual experience in war. This en- 
titled him to the captaincy. The company was recruited under 
an order from the Governor to J. W. Martin, who had done 
much to recruit it, so Martin was entitled to the first lieuten- 
ancy. I purposed being a candidate for second lieutenant. 
When Martin heard this he came to me, waiving all rights to 
the first lieutenancy in my favor, saying he would take the 
second lieutenancy, and delicately assigning as a reason that 


80 GENERAL Point H. SHERIDAN 


I had seen some Indian service, which, in truth, was so insig- 
nificant that in justice it was no claim. The service Lieut. 
Martin alluded to was a little Indian war with the Pitt river 
Indians in the early days of California, which only lasted a few 
months, and I think only thirty-seven were killed on both 
sides ; one of these, a squaw, by mistake, who had fought with 
the males. The truth was, I think, that as I had a family to 
support, he thought I needed the difference in pay more than 
he, but was too considerate to assign any other reason than 
that I should have it for the service I had seen in the West. A 
few days before we started there was an election of officers 
resulting in my election as first and his as second lieutenant, 
there being no opposition to either of us. 

War, like politics, makes strange bed-fellows. Patriotism 
is an equalizer of persons—all men are equally under its ban- 
ner. The rich man’s son, fashionably dressed, was in the same 
file with the day laborer, coarsely and poorly clad. The blue 
blood of New England was represented in the company by 
Gerald Stowe, a relative of Harriet Beecher Stowe, educated, 
refined, and modest, who touched elbows with the ignorant ex- 
criminal; the innocent country boy, clean and conscientious, 
marched with him of bloated features, soiled garments and un- 
kempt hair, possibly on the verge of delirium tremens, for 
there were a number of black sheep with us. It could not be 
expected that they all should be models of excellence, all kinds 
were jumbled together. 

The last day of August, 1861, was the day for our de- 
parture. The little square in front of the Court House where 
Phil Sheridan played when a boy was packed with men, wom- 
en, children, horses and wagons. ‘Ten wagons were engaged 
to take those who had no other means of transportation to 
the nearest railroad station nine miles away. I shall never for- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND SI 


get the many scenes, pathetic and amusing, that impressed 
themselves on my memory that day; the sorrowful incidents 
greatly outnumbered those that were entertaining. I saw the 
fifer of our company kiss his sweetheart for the last time; he 
was buried in Tennessee. I think the girl did not survive him 
many years. I saw many others give their last lover’s kiss. 
As an officer, | had much walking about to do that day in 
order to get things in readiness. Here and there in a quiet 
nook I could see a boy walking for the last time with the girl 
he loved; I could hear the whisperings and the sweet vows of 
eternal affection as they parted, sometimes forever. I saw 
others bending over cradles kissing the sleeping babes. Some 
were receiving the blessings of old men; others parting with 
mothers. This, in every case, was the most affecting, for the 
old mother would press her boy to her heart again and again. 
Some were speaking brave words in bold tones to drive away 
the awful fears of the young wife. I saw a wife standing in 
the door with her babe in her arms. As the wagon her hus- 
band was in passed her, a hand waved, and she answered by 
holding up in tender embrace their only child. A few minutes 
and he is gone, and forever. 

Busy as I was with preparations, it was during these scenes 
that I for the first time realized that women had the hardest 
part to bear during the war. She had no voice in the making 
of it, yet she saw her lover, son or husband leave her, some- 
times to gain a name, it is true, but more often to find death 
in all its horror, while she remained to watch and pray, lonely, 
often unprotected, and in want. The novelty and excitement 
of soldier life banished loneliness and homesickness in nearly 
every case, but those left in the monontony of the home often 
waited, anxiously, throughout long years, uncertain as to 
whether they would ever see their loved ones again. 


82 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


“The bravest battle that ever was fought! 
Shall I tell you where or when? 
In the history of the world you find it not— 
It was fought by the mothers of men.” 

The small boy was there in full force, noisy and busy, as- 
- sisting the teamsters and thereby claiming a right to ride to 
the station with the vulunteers. The officers had their hands 
full to see that all were seated in the wagons, especially those 
who had been invited too often to take a parting drink. When 
all was ready the train commenced pulling out amidst a long, 
and, I thought, a sad cheer that died away in a wail. 

Something comical often occurs, even amid the gravest 
and saddest scenes. Pathos, humor and tragedy seem about 
equally divided in war. We had not gone more than fifty 
yards, were not yet out of the village in fact, when there was 
a halt. I could not see what was wrong ahead. My first im- 
pression was that the kind-hearted old farmer who drove the 
head team was giving us a moment longer for a final look at 
home and kindred, as we could still see the crowd in the square. 
Among the volunteers was Sam B , a drinking man of 
soiled reputation—one of those whose walk through life so 
nearly approached the criminal line that he often overstepped 
it, and now and then we heard of his being under arrest. (1 
am not afraid of offending Sam by this description of his pe- 
culiarities for he never came back; I cannot remember where 
we lost him, but it was either in Mississippi or Alabama. ) 
Well, when the halt came it brought the wagon in which Sam 
was directly in front of the residence of a Mrs. MacGinnis, 
who, with her family, was out on the veranda, waving the 
boys good-bye. All was still; the cheer had died away; every- 
one was feeling sad. Sam recognized Mrs. MacGinnis, stood 
up unsteadily in the wagon, and in a voice loud enough to be 
heard the full length of the train, called out as he waved his 


PLAYMATE—CoMRADE—FRIEND 83 


hat, ‘“Good-bye, Mrs. MacGinnis! You and your chickens, 
good-bye! You will never see Sam again.” Everyone in 
hearing knew the import of the chicken farewell, it having ref- 
erence to a well-founded report that he had been too free with 
her chicken roost. The speech had the effect of turning the 
boys’ thoughts from sadness to merriment, and when we finally 
left the little town we were all laughing. 

Two days later we were in Columbus on our way to Camp 
Chase, which was located five miles from the city. We arrived 
in town about dark. Our initiation into soldiering was not a 
joyful experience. The weather was cold and cloudy and the 
hour too late to go out to camp. On our way up to the State 
House to report to the Governor we were met by one of his 
staff, who conducted us to the State House rotunda. Here 
we were left, with the promise that he would return with a 
wagon load of blankets, but neither he nor the blankets ever 
came. After waiting until about ten o’clock the boys began 
abusing him unmercifully, one of them saying that if he ever 
saw that “staff” again he would ”break it to flinders.” One 
by one we stretched ourselves out on the cold marble floor to 
get what sleep we could. It was not a bed of roses. A few 
left, to seek hotels and lodging houses, but this the officers 
discouraged, fearing the delay and trouble of getting the com- 
pany together in the morning. It was a miserable night for 
those who remained. In after years I often passed the spot 
we occupied that night, and always with a shudder; though it 
was, indeed a “‘bed of down” compared with what we endured 
many other nights before the war was over. However, our suf- 
fering was lessened as we became hardened—at the State 
House we had been soft and unseasoned. 

Daylight never received a warmer welcome. Getting our 
breakfast at the nearest eating houses, we got into line and 


84 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


started for camp. The two-hour march proved toilsome after 
the night’s unrest, and, besides, our tight boots and shoes were 
little suited for tramping.. We were glad to sit down at the 
gate of the camp and rest until an orderly came out to conduct 
us to our quarters, which we found to consist of two rows of 
board shanties, called a ‘street’ —the camp being laid out on 
the plan of a town. At noon we drew our first rations of 
bread, meat and coffee, with camp kettles, tin plates, tin cups, 
knives and forks. This was a novel experience for the boys, 
and some queer and awkward cooking followed. 

We found that Camp Chase had a line of guards surround- 
ing it. This had two objects—one as a school for guard duty, 
the other to prevent visits to Columbus without a pass. We 
had been there three or four days before Government cloth- 
ing was issued to us. Two days before we received ours I 
saw one of the company, Pat Fagan, a man forty years old 
and with an immense brogue, strutting up and down the com- 
pany street wearing a full suit of blue. I asked that he give 
me an explanation. 

“There is nothing aisier than to do thot,” replied he. ‘“T 
was a-walkin’ up and through th’ ind o’ the camp yesterday 
whin I saw a crowd of min around some boxes, an’ I crowded 
in, too, an’ found iv’ry divil of ’em a-takin’ a shute o’ close. 
Thinks I, ‘Pat Fagan is a soldier now an’ has as good a roit 
to a shute as ony of ’em,’ so I picked me out this shute an’ 
brought ’em down an’ thried ’em on, an’ a divil of a better fit 
did I iver have.” 

Now I understood. A company was drawing and distrib- 
uting clothing—a matter that was attended the first time with 
more or less confusion, carelessness and excitement. Doubt- 
less many in that company were strangers to each other, so, 
during the confusion and hurry, Pat had no trouble in selecting 


Ba rg a 
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5 ua ey 
ay Rites 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 85 


a suit and leaving without interference; he was of the opinion 
that it was a “free pitch in.”’ 

The “joke” was on the captain of that company, who was 
out that amount, being responsible for all company property, 
while Pat was the gainer; I explained to him that the captains 
were charged with all clothing distributed, and if the suit was 
not returned the captain must pay for it. I advised him to take 
it off and return it, which he promised to do, saying that he 
did not want to ‘‘chate the mon.” But the next day he was still 
wearing them, and, when I reminded him of his promise, he 
was ready with the good excuse: “I wint up there to foind 
th’ place, an’ divil a bit could I foind it at all, at all.” So, as 
long as he lived, Pat was ahead of that captain the price of 
that suit of blue. 

In a day or two we were all on an equal footing with him. 
We had on the blue. The frock coat had scales on the shoul- 
ders. A cheap brass epaulette was much disliked, so when it 
became dark and the officers could not detect it, the scales were 
cut off and thrown away. The Western soldiers did not like 
a cap—we would have preferred a hat. The cap of the in- 
fantry soldier had a small brass bugle in front; this also was 
thrown away as a piece of toggery. We never drew the frock 
or uniform coat a second time; it was unsuitable. The blouse, 
from its ease and adaptability, was preferred by all. Next 
came the arms, with the many leather straps of scabbard, cart- 
ridge and cap box. It took an expert to properly adjust this 
set of harness the first time, and it was not strange that the 
farmer volunteer was reminded of harnessing and breaking a 
colt; nor was it to be wondered at that while this operation 
was going on we could hear them kicking and hear them neigh- 
ing and squealing in imitation of colts all over the camp. 

After being in Camp Chase about two weeks, we could 


86 GENERAL PuiLt H. SHERIDAN 


hear mutterings of discontent and dissatisfaction. The first 
rosy flush of illusion was passing away and sombre reality 
taking its place. The men now realized that soldiering was 
not one continued picnic; the persistent drills, strict discipline 
and poor fare to which the once well-fed volunteer had become 
accustomed began to arouse endless complaint. The good 
times anticipated without restraint did not materialize; the 
glamour was gone. Many members of that company had been 
accustomed from childhood to come and go when and where 
they pleased. This freedom was now over. Instead was 
rough food, restraint, obedience and bitter disappointment— 
the poetry of war was gone. It was only human that there 
should be some scapegoat selected on whom to saddle re- 
sponsibiilty for all these misfortunes; there must be someone 
to blame for their mistreatment. They found the victim. 

It was General Hill who commanded the camp, and, as if 
by common understanding, they all abused him. Not one poor 
fellow ever dreamed that he was then spending the honeymoon 
of soldier life; not one knew anything of the pitiless hardships 
of real war; they had only tasted a little of its restraints. It 
was true, Hill was a strict disciplinarian, but not unreasonably 
so. He was an excellent drill officer, a fine, soldierly-looking 
man. 

One of the first charges against General Hill was that he 
put on too many airs for this democratic age and republican 
country and that there was no occasion to be so strict by half. 
But, worst of all, he was the author of our short allowances 
and inferior bill of fare; in fact, all the supposedly gross 
wrongs were charged to him. This bad feeling was greatly 
intensified when a rumor gained credence that he had not acted 
with bravery at the battle of Garrek’s Ford, in which his regi- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 87 


ment had participated, in the Spring. Following this report, 
the boys felt for him the utmost contempt. 

We had with us a wayward young man, who from his 
childhood had been beyond the control of his parents. He 
was intensely disgusted that he must obey. The picture he 
had drawn did not fit the facts as he found them. He had ex- 
hausted the ordinary channels of abuse when speaking of Gen- 
eral Hill, and had resorted to poetry. He had a “poem,” as he 
called it, which abused the General from first to last. From 
the number of times I saw and heard him reading it to admir- 
ing comrades who approved and applauded every line, I am 
confident he thought himself a poet of marked ability. Of this 
the reader can form his own opinion from the specimen that 
I can yet remember; I am sure this will be sufficient. Billy’s 
poem began: 


“ Between Hill and h—1 there is but one letter; 
If Hill were in h—l, we'd be the better.” | 


Some may claim that he was not a poet of high order, but 
this is a matter of opinion. If the question had been submitted 
to the boys of that camp the verdict would have been almost 
unanimous in his favor, but if the reader should dissent from 
the opinion I am sure he will be charitable enough to forgive 
Billy, even as I think the Lord has, when I tell him that after 
arriving at the front there was no better or braver soldier up 
to the time of his death at Chickamauga, where he was left with 
the other dead of the Army of the Cumberland—the first and 
only time this splendid army ever left its dead or turned its 
back to the enemy as it fought its way slowly and sullenly to 
Chattanooga. | 

A comrade who was with the wayward poet as he unslung 
his knapsack and adjusted his cap and cartridge box prepara- 
tory to the fight told me after the war that Billy had said, 


88 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


smilingly, “Joe, I feel it in my bones that we are going to 
catch it here for the first time, and I feel that it will be my 
last fight; if that turns out true, and you get home, tell father 
and mother that I’ve been a better boy since I’ve been out; 
and as to dying, that’s all right; this is as good a place as any.” 


In September our regiment was fully organized, equipped, 
and numbered 31st Ohio Volunteer Infantry, M. B. Walker 
commanding. Our company letter was G. After three weeks 
more of company and batallion drill it was thought we were 
ready for the front. Many, fearing the war might be over 
before their arrival, were most anxious to get there. 

About the 1st of October, 1861, we bid Camp Chase fare- 
well, first being reviewed by Governor Todd and staff; the 
boys of Company G keeping a sharp lookout for that staff 
officer who had disappointed them so cruelly in failing to bring 
the blankets to the rotunda; however, he was either not there 
or a gaudy uniform disguised him beyond recognition. 

We left behind us in process of organization the 2oth, 4oth 
and 42nd, Colonel Garfield’s (afterward President) 1st Ohio 
Cavalry, with other fractional regiments, the numbers of 
which I cannot remember. 

It was rumored that Cincinnati was our destination, but 
as we were to travel by freight cars, the time of our arrival 
was tncertain. An order was issued to take two days’ cooked 
rations in haversacks. The import and importance of this 
order was not fully appreciated by the new soldier and was not 
strictly obeyed. The result was, before we arrived in Cincinnati 
the boys were ravenously hungry. The Colonel, ascertaining 
our condition, took the precaution to telegraph to the Soldiers’ 
Relief Committee that we were coming hungry. (Whoever 
heard of a soldier that wasn’t?) We were kindly met by that 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 89 


patriotic body who, acting on the Colonel’s hint, was ready 
to conduct us to its rooms. Gladly getting out of our cramped 
places, we formed in line, when bright little boys and girls 
went up and down the lines with well-filled baskets of good 
things, until the hungriest could cry, “Hold! Enough!” 

In addition to that, the populace, male and female, gath- 
ered around us offering apples, peaches and oranges until our 
haversacks would hold no more. This being early in the war, 
we attracted attention; the novelty was not yet over. A fine 
carriage drove up in front of and not far from my Company; 
the driver beckoned me to come to him. As I approached, 
the door opened and a handsome lady looked out and, apolo- 
gizing, introduced herself, then asked if I was the Captain of 
the Company (pointing to several boy soldiers I had on the 
left of the Company, whose size and youth seemed to attract 
her attention). I told her I was not the Captain, but was in 
command; the Captain was absent, sick. She handed me a 
pocketbook, making excuses for the small amount it contained. 
She hoped I would accept it to be distributed among the most 
needy. “They may want to buy some little necessities before 
you cross the river.’ In my surprise I hesitated a moment to 
accept it, but she so earnestly and gracefully insisted that I 
could not do otherwise, so I blundered by thanks. In my 
surprise and embarrassment I forgot to obtain her address, in 
which event I could have made to the pretty patriot more suit- 
able acknowledgment under calmer conditions. Just then I 
heard a command issued, and, looking back, saw the battalion 
wheeling into platoon, preparatory to a march. I was needed 
with my Company. Another look at her fine features, a hasty 
good-bye, and “thank you,’ and I ran to catch up with the 
marching column. After getting settled in our new camp I 
counted the money, which was over twenty dollars. 


90 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


Our destination was the old Orphan Asylum grounds, 
where stands the new opera house. After remaining here for 
several days an order came to march at 4 o'clock P. M. the 
next day, with two days’ cooked rations in haversacks and 
ten rounds of cartridges. The latter part of the order looked 
like business for the boys. It was rumored that we would be 
sent to Camp Dick Robinson, the central camp of instruction 
for the Kentucky loyal troops, that was then threatened by a 
force said to be marching toward that point from Cumberland 
Gap, Tennessee, under the Confederate General Zollicoffer. 

After much delay, which we learned so well to avoid in 
after years, we started, our brass band headed towards the 
river. Arriving at the Burnett House we were halted in the 
midst of a great crowd to hear a speech by General Mitchell, 
the distinguished astronomer, who also became a distinguished 
General. By the time we got started again it was just dark. 
The first year of the war there were many speeches made; 
after that there was neither time nor occasion to make them. 

The sidewalks along our line of march were crowded with 
men, women and children, white, black, of all ages and condi- 
tions. Flags and handkerchiefs waved from every building. 
The most hearty demonstrations met us on every side. Reach- 
ing the river, we found large bonfires illuminating the streets 
and buildings of the district, reflecting the light almost across 
the “dark and bloody ground.” 

As the two large ferry boats that held our regiment glided 
out into the stream, the shore we were leaving swarmed with 
huzzahing patriots waving hats and handkerchiefs. We were 
so densely packed in those boats that it was a wonder some 
did not fall overboard, as it could be plainly seen that all were 
not prohibitionists. However, we reached the dock without 
accident. 


3b 
ie gee pees bic ae 
JS et Sell ia scone a ai a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND QI 


From the landing we marched to the K. C. R. R. station 
and were there put in freight cars. In the morning we found 
ourselves in Cynthiana, and that afternoon at Nicholasville, 
the terminus of the road. Here was our first camp in the field. 

At seven o'clock next morning “assembly” was called and 
we knew we were in for it—heavy knapsacks and solid busi- 
ness. We left the town with banners flying and bands play- 
ing, following the Pike southward. It is a wearisome day’s 
march, for we were heavily laden, as all soldiers are on their 
first march, foolishly carrying too much when not accustomed 
to it. In the evening we found ourselves in the vicinity of 
the Kentucky River, at that point a lovely sheet of water about 
fifty feet wide. 

We were the first northern troops to cross this stream. The 
scenery was wild and romantic in the extreme. The narrow 
Pike we marched on wound around the sides of hills which 
might almost claim the title of mountains, while away down 
the precipice the brink of which was at one’s feet, little brooks 
rushed over their rocky beds, leaping and babbling from cliff 
to cliff until they would strike the canon below. 

This locality was the haunt of the celebrated Daniel 
Boone, and many were the thrilling traditions handed down 
through generations of Kentuckians as to how the intrepid 
hunter succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the savages of 
those rocky wilds. Within fifty feet of the bridge we crossed, 
rising from the river to the height of over two hundred feet, 
stood, alone in its grandeur, a cone-shaped hill known as 
“Boone’s Knob.’ Here we afterwards camped for two weeks. 

A march of six miles from Boone’s Knob brought us to 
camp Dick Robinson, near which we were met by the Third 
Kentucky Infantry, who, with due honors, conducted us to our 
new camp. Here we found Carter’s brigade, Ist and 2d E. 


92 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Tennessee, Ist and 2nd Kentucky Infantry, also Wolford’s 
Kentucky Cavalry. The camp was in command of Gen. Geo. 
H. Thomas—old ‘Pap’ Thomas, as the boys affectionately 
learned to speak of him. A regular soldier from his boyhood, 
and comparatively an old man at this time, yet there was no 
wide gulf between him and the young volunteer private. He 
was always kind and forbearing, and the boys learned to 
love him. : 

A few days after our arrival the 14th, 17th and 38th Ohio 
Infantry came to us, also the 33rd Indiana. When it was known 
to the surrounding country—the famous blue-grass region and 
the nearby towns of Danville and Lancaster—that Yankee regi- 
ments could be seen at Camp Dick Robinson, scores of people 
in fine carriages, with high-stepping horses, would be in the 
vicinity of the parade ground every pleasant afternoon to see 
the Northern soldiers at dress parade and battalion drill, for 
the afternoons were devoted to those evolutions. They invari- 
ably brought well-filled lunch baskets of the best this rich 
country afforded, which was an inducement for us to extend 
every courtesy in our power, in return for which we were often 
invited to share those delicacies. This was often a double 
feast for us—not only for the appetite, but for the eye, as 
well. We could see the beauty of the women, for which this 
section is justly noted. Sometimes one could scarcely enjoy 
the luxuries they invited us to for looking at the beauties who 
offered them. I thought the blue-grass women were the love- 
liest in manner and the sweetest in face of any I had ever seen. 
I remember two fine specimens who came to our camp, a Miss 
Shelby and Miss Leatcher. Female beauty seemed to disap- 
' pear to a great extent after we left Kentucky. 

At the end of the first week we were visited by Governor 
Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, afterwards President ; Horace 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 93 


Maynard and Leslie Cooms, each making us a short speech. 
A few days later came General Sherman, then comparatively 
unknown; he was sent by the President on a tour of inspec- 
tion. He stopped at Dick Robinson Hotel, adjacent to the 
camp, which was named for the proprietor, a zealous Union 
man, 

Sherman, being from our own state, it was thought to be 
the proper thing on the first evening of his arrival for us to take 
the band down and serenade him; so the commissioned officers, 
headed by Lieutenant-Colonel Fred Jones and preceded by the 
music, started. The musicians were instructed to play their 
best tunes, and then the General would be called out for a 
speech. We had not quite grasped the idea that we were out 
of politics and in war, therefore we must have a speech. 

Arriving, the band did its best, which was not much. To 
tell you the naked truth, they could not play with such exquis- 
ite unison and enthusiastic military spirit that it seemed to 
enter the very blood and rest with strange thrill in the brain 
for hours afterward. When they ceased playing we felt glad, 
but they had done the very best they could. When about out 
of wind and tunes there was a silence, and then we expected the 
highly complimented Ohio General to appear and make an ap- 
preciative speech. But he came not. We commenced calling 
him—yet no Sherman. We called louder. When this did not 
bring him, some of the boys became noisy. All this time he 
was getting madder and madder, but we did not know it. 
Then he appeared on the upper veranda, and all was still. We 
expected the speech—and he made it. He asked us what we 
wanted and some one said, “A speech!” We learned then that 
he was excited and angry. 

“T have no speech for you excepting to say you had better 
return to your quarters, and if you are commissioned officers, 


— 


94 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


as I am told you are, keep your men from stealing Dick Rob- 
inson’s chickens and burning his rails, which I am informed 
they are guilty of. If you belong to an Ohio regiment, I am 
ashamed of you. It is unmilitary, to say the least, to come 
here and call me out to make a speech. The best thing you ~ 
can do is to take your band and yourselves back to your regi- 
ment, and do it quickly.” We thought he would feel so highly 
honored that we would be invited to walk up to Dick Robin- 
son’s bar and drink his best Kentucky peach and apple brandy. 

Before the speech was finished there was a stampede to the 
rear. We had all taken the hint at par value and when the last 
words of the lecture had died away the crowd had disappeared 
and there was not one officer left to hear it. And ever after 
that not one could be found to admit that he was one of the 
party that had gone to serenade General Sherman. 

We knew better after that than to call a General out to 
make a speech. We were about as verdant and knew as little 
of the proprieties of war or the etiquette of military life as the 
Missourian did when he was approached by General Hardee, 
the strict Confederate disciplinarian. One day while com- 
manding in the Southwest the General rode out on the picket 
line, and, much to his surprise, found a sentry sitting on a rail 
fence munching a piece of bacon. General Hardee appeared 
not to see him until he got abreast of him, and then drew his 
horse up, expecting to find the sentry at “present.” He was 
nothing of the kind, however, but sat munching away as un- 
concernedly as though he were in his native mountains. 

“Do you know who I am?” demanded General Hardee, 
in his severest tones. 

“Stranger, I ‘low I don’t.” 

“T am General Hardee, and 

Without stopping to hear the remainder of his sentence 


99 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 95 


the raw recruit slowly climbed down from the fence, and, 
shambling into the road, extended his hand as he said, “How 
air ye, General? I’m mighty glad to see yer lookin’ so peart!” 

On General Sherman’s return to Washington from this tour 
of inspection he reported to the government that the prepara- 
tions for the defense of this department were totally inade- 
quate; that it would require at least three times the number 
of men to meet an emergency. 

Some of the leaders of the Northern press, Murat Halsted 
among the number, pronounced Sherman insane, a verdict in 
which the officers who serenaded: him that night fully coin- 
cided. But time and events proved that the General was cor- 
rect in his judgment as to the inadequacy of our preparations 
in Kentucky. 

During a visit to Oakwoods Cemetery, this city, last sum- 
mer, sad memories were aroused by the sight of a cenotaph 
erected not far from the Confederate monument, its quiet 
simplicity in strange contrast with the imposing column that 
marks the Confederate resting place. 

One of the saddest unwritten pages of American history is 
the story of the unhappy loyal refugee of the South. Next to 
us, in the same field, lay the first and second East Tennessee 
Infantry, and not far away the First and Second East Ten- 
nessee Cavalry. These men were all refugees from the Cum- 
berland Mountains. In addition to their other sufferings, dis- 
ease attacked them with remarkable fatality. Being mountain- 
eers, they had always been accustomed to the purest water and 
air. When they came down from the heights—‘‘The Switzer- 
land of America’’—to the lowlands of Kentucky, all manner of 
ailments beset them, measles being especially prevalent and 
fatal. What added to the number of deaths was their abhor- 
rence of a hospital. Every day one or more of these brave 


Oe GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


mountaineers would be carried from his tent to the slope above 
our camp, where reveille would awake them no more. As sol- 
diers they were splendid fighters, but lacking in discipline and 
training, those elements that make effective soldiers. Driven 
from their homes by the secession element, they became the 
most bitter and desperate men of the war, restless, but silent, 
alert, and always eager to fight. Life appeared to have lost 
its charms to them in their fugitive condition. To the North- 
erner they were a strange study. : 

I often went through their camp, for it was quite unlike 
ours; they would sit around moodily, thinking, no doubt, of 
their homes; some would be playing cards. There was no lit- 
erature in evidence except the Bible, for there was a strong re- 
ligious element with them—some disciples of Parson Brown- 
low. I learned that nothing would arouse them except a call 
of “boots and saddles,” for the two regiments of cavalry. This 
signal meant a reconnaissance, and that insured a fight, as 
they always insisted on being led against the cavalry out-posts 
of theenemy. When this call was sounded there was the great- 
est activity and hilarity in the camp—laughing, joking and 
hurrying to and fro. They were only happy when there was a 
prospect of fighting. These men, fugitives from their homes, 
seemed devoid of fear, and apparently knew no pleasure but re- 
venge upon those who had torn them from their dear ones 
and caused their forlorn condition. 

We witnessed many pathetic scenes among these unsophis- 
ticated people who knew so little of the world that many mid- 
die-aged men in that camp had never seen a Northerner. Our 
regiment was their nearest neighbor, and was an object of curi- 
osity and deep interest to them. An officer said to me one day, 
“You’uns are a slick looken’ set of fellers!” We were com- 
pelled by strict orders to keep our hair closely cut, were care- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 97 


ful of our clothing, and had round, plump forms. This was 
in striking contrast to the mountaineers, who wore their hair 
long, were generally lean and lank, and were utterly indiffer- 
ent as to the fit of their uniforms. 

One morning soon after our arrival, while sitting near a 
tent which overlooked the field between our camp and Dick 
Robinson’s hotel, I saw a man, woman and little boy running 
towards the Tennessee camp, the little fellow struggling along 
manfully under the double handicap of short legs and high 
grass. He often fell, but I could hear no cry, and he would 
jump right up and start after the woman again. I afterwards 
learned that the man was the messenger. The morning was 
frosty, but as the woman came up I noticed that she was thinly 
and poorly clad, and appeared pathetic in her poverty. She 
entered a Tennessee tent. Ina moment I heard broken words 
and pitiful lamentations. The scene was so unusual in a war 
camp that I went over to inquire the cause, hoping to be able 
to render some service. The tent flaps were turned back; the 
woman knelt by the side of a soldier who seemed to be dying. 
It took but a glance to see that the loyal Tennesseean would 
never in battle again face the stars and bars of the Confed- 
eracy, for the Destroyer was already glazing his hollow eyes 
in meek surrender. 

“George, why didn’t you send for me sooner? Oh, why 
did I go ’way and let you die! Why didn’t you let me stay 
with you?” 

With the greatest effort he said, “Mary, you couldn’t stay 
here in camp so well with our little boy. It was not a good 
place for you or Ben.” 

He attempted to say more, but his voice was drowned by 
a gurgling sound in his throat. I could see his lips moving 


98 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


in an effort to speak, but no sound came. He was dying—_ 


yes, dead. 

She repeatedly kissed his pale lips and did not seem to 
realize that he was dead, for she would call him to look at 
her, and then say, “Look at our little Ben!” But his dead 
eyes gave back only a vacant stare. 

The chaplain of the regiment hurried in with the mes- 
senger who had brought the poor wife. The two assisted her 
to her feet, speaking words of sympathy and consolation. She 
stood there reproaching herself for not remaining in camp 
to nurse him. Other friends or relatives came in and per- 
suaded her to go back to the hotel. Again she kissed his face 
and bathed his hands in tears, calling him back to life—to look 
at her once more. The little boy stood near his mother, gaz- 
ing in wonder first at her and then at his father’s body. I 
afterward learned something of the history of this family, 
which was about as follows: 

-” He was Aways an out-and-out Union man and they tried 
to press him into the rebel service. This caused a fight, in 
which he killed one of the party sent to get him. His cabin 
was near the bushes and he got away, but they fired his home, 
his wife saving only a few articles before it burned down. 
That night the woman and little boy found him, and with 
some cooking traps and blankets they walked all the way to 
camp. He joined the First E. Tennessee Cavalry and got 
employment for his wife at the hotel, thinking it would be 
more comfortable for her and the child. A few days after 
she left him he was taken with measles, but wouldn’t go to the 
hospital; none of them liked to go there. He wasn’t so very 
sick, but grew tired staying in camp and hungry for some- 
thing he could get at the sutler’s, so he went down, and com- 
ing back was caught in a rain storm; then he grew worse than 


Pe 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 99 


ever. That had been only three days before, and the relapse 
proved fatal. 

Befcre leaving, I took another look at the dead soldier. 
His thin features were set in the smile which lit up his face 
when he gazed at his little Ben and closed his eyes on this 
world, with the arms of his loving wife enfolding him. I 
saw the poor woman again on the following day. She anda 
few others were slowly accompanying her George up to the 
knoll where so many of his countrymen had preceded him. 


Vi 


CHAPTER Vil 


CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTIONS—THE SOLDIER’S DREAM—A BRAVE 
UNION WOMAN—EVIL EFFECTS OF MERRITT’S PEACH 
BRANDY. 


HILE in Camp Dick Robinson an incident occurred 
\ / that has always been pleasant to review. 

It occurred the day Governor Johnson (after- 
wards President) and other distinguished gentlemen spoke to 
us, as mentioned elsewhere. My duty that day was as “officer 
of the guard,” with authority to pass visitors through the 
lines, an unusual number being there to hear the speeches. 

I noticed two ladies in a conveyance near the entrance who 
appeared desirous of entering. I inquired, and was told by 
one that they were anxious to hear the speeches and more 
thoroughly see the camp. I passed them through and saw 
to it that they had a desirable place within hearing of the 
speakers, a favor for which they appeared grateful. When 
about to leave, they asked my name, company and regiment, 
and introduced themselves, my questioner being a Mrs. Reid, 
of Lancaster, nine miles west of our camp, who extended an 
invitation to call and see them should I ever be in Lancaster. 

The following November we left Camp Dick Robinson on 
our way South. Our first halt was at or near Lancaster, 
where we arrived after dark. Before entering the town I 
heard my name called by the officer of the Company in front 
of mine, and then saw a citizen standing by the roadside calling 
my name. Leaving the ranks, I approached him and intro- 
duced myself, when he replied that he was the husband of the 

100 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND IOI 


lady to whom I had been kind at Camp Dick Robinson on the 
occasion of Governor Johnson’s speech. 

“We heard your regiment was coming, and I am here to 
invite you, with seven or eight others whom you may select, 
to take supper with us,” he said. 

“Mr. Reid, I cannot refuse, but to bring a houseful seems 
an imposition; that number on possibly a short notice might 
be inconvenient, so let me select four with myself.” 

“No, we insist on seven or eight; we are prepared for that 
number; it will not be inconvenient.” 

After he had given me information directing us to the 
residence, we parted. I followed the regiment and overtook 
them just as they were filing off into a field at the entrance of 
the town to go into camp. 

When we got our tents up I selected the other lucky boys. 
Obtaining liberty to leave the camp, we started to find the 
Reid residence, which we reached without any delay. We 
did not wait long until Mrs. Reid, looking very pretty, came 
in and was introduced to the boys. Soon after, a colored girl 
made the welcome announcement, “supper.” 

Following our friends, we found ourselves about a table 
loaded with all for which a hungry squad could wish. We 
had seen nothing to compare with it since leaving home. We 
remained to the last minute of our leave, and bade them 
good-bye, as we supposed, forever. Of course I felt happy 
over the result of the courtesy I had shown Mrs. Reid and her 
friend. It was a most bountiful return. 

On Christmas day following we were camped near Som- 
erset, Kentucky. It was not a very productive country. The 
ten thousands troops there eagerly snapped up everything 
eatable that was brought in by the citizens for sale. We were, 
therefore, confined almost exclusively to army rations, 


102 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


If there ever was a time when we would “hanker” after 
something extra it would be at the holidays. It was natural 
that the mind should retrospect, and take us back to Ohio, to 
the good things upon which our friends were feasting. 
Visions of roast turkey, sausage, ham and eggs, with good 
fruit, passed in review. How we would have enjoyed picking 
the bones and eating the scraps that would be thrown to the 
dogs or emptied into the swill pail! 

‘I can see the boys yet, as they squatted or stood about their 
poor fires (for the rails had been burned long ago) thinking 
of Christmas at home. The day was an empty mockery to 
them as they munched their fat meat and dry, hard bread. 
The only thing I saw that was a substantial reminder was the 
squad of the Third relief, bringing with them two rabbits they 
had caught at their outposts; they, at least, would have a good 
dinner. 

As I sat indulging in these epicurean dreams, trying to 
warm myself by the scrap of fire that was left after supper, 
one of my men came up with a strange soldier, carrying a box 
that, from its weight, caused the soldier to blow a little after 
setting it down. 

“This is the place,’ my soldier said, before the box was 
deposited by its weary bearer, “and this is the Captain you are 
looking for.” 

I noticed the box was addressed to me. When his breath 
had sufficiently returned, the man said: 

“T am a teamster in the 12th Kentucky. As our train 
was coming through Lancaster, Mrs. Reid, whom I have 
known for many years (I used to live in Lancaster), came 
out and asked me where our train was going. I told her. 
Then she asked me if the 31st Ohio was still in our brigade, 
and I told her it was camped right nigh us. Then she said 


os fe oe 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 103 


she would pay me well if I would take a box to the captain of 
Company G. I told her I wouldn’t charge her anything, for 
she is a Union woman, as good as she is pretty. So I went 
over and got it and put it in my wagon that stood in front of 
her house, and here it is.” 

I more than compensated the faithful Kentuckian for the 
service, reluctant as he was to take anything, and lost no time 
in placing the box in my tent and opening it. I shall refrain 
from attempting to describe my feelings, or saying how my 
eyes bulged when I saw its contents. Roast turkey, chicken, 
beef, cake, canned fruit and other luxuries filled it from top 
to bottom, with a pretty note from Mrs. Reid, conveying Mr. 
and Mrs. Reid’s compliments, with wishes for a merry 
Christmas. When I invoiced the whole stock I could not, 
with certainty, realize my good fortune, nor my identity, and 
I said to Hoover, my cook, an old Swiss ex-soldier, “Am I 
dreaming, or are we back in Ohio again? Tell me quickly.” 
He shook his head and said: “Naw! You ish not dreamin’ 
and you ish not in Ohio. We ish down in dish Kentucky, yit.” 

As I said, when the box arrived we had just partaken of 
our meager meal, but the tempting sight developed a new hun- 
ger. No one was in the tent but the Swiss and J. With 
pardonable excitement I asked him to make haste and rebuild 
the fire, make plenty of coffee, hunt up the lieutenants and 
Sergeant Leydey, and say to them to come to this tent in 
thirty minutes—that there would be a Delmonico supper, a 
feast, a banquet, and—nHurRRY! 

He was not long in obeying, for he loved good things as 
well as any of us; notwithstanding he spoke broken English, 
that did not seem to affect his appetite in the least. 

By the time the coffee was done and the feast tastefully 
spread the invited guests had arrived. Of course, the first 


104 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


thing I did was to explain the origin of the godsend; then, 
animated with the most exalted motives and a persistent zeal, 
worthy of the best cause, we reduced the contents of that box 
wonderfully. You who have never been soldiers and probably 
have never known hunger in its true sense, know nothing of 
the enjoyment and intoxication of a supper such as we had 
after a comparative fast of many months. 

Lieutenant Martin said the feast would have been the best 
in America if we had had some of Merritt’s peach brandy, 
of which'the reader will hear later. We went to our blankets 
that night with abnormally distended and surprised stomachs, 
the surprise coming not only from the quantity but also from 
the quality, especially the quality. With me it was a night 
of constant dreams, both pleasant and unpleasant. One I 
remember was that I saw Mrs. Reid, as an angel, looking over 
a battle-field, ministering to the wants of the wounded and 
dying. The last and most pleasant was that I was at home 
again, the war over, the Unon restored, and I was sitting 
down to a Christmas dinner with my wife and my aged father 
and mother. It was a rude, cruel awakening when they shat- 
tered that dream by rattling drum and shrieking fife at reveille; 
this told me that I was not at home, that war still held sway. 
Then I began to doubt the reality of having received the box. 
I rubbed my eyes and, looking about, plainly saw it quite near 
me. Our tent lived and felt like “bloated bondholders” until 
the luxuries were gone, and while the pleasant surprise was 
still upon me I wrote to the fair giver, telling her how we had 
enjoyed her generosity; that not only was my tent made 
happy, but that I had four sick boys in the field hospital who 
would ever remember the treat as an oasis in the desert of 
hospital life, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 105 


I must digress to narrate an example of the Reids’ kind- 
ness to us while we were still at Camp Dick Robinson. 

I must repeat how abundantly I was repaid for that simple 
act of civility extended to the patriotic lady at Camp Dick 
Robinson. We met again. The shifting of war brought us 
together after the battle of Perryville. Our men had fol- 
lowed Bragg closely, thinking he would be compelled to turn 
and fight again. This was in October, 1862, nearly a year 
after I had received the valuable box at Somerset. The 
enemy was rapidly retreating through Harrodsburg, Danville 
and Lancaster. The day we entered the latter place our regi- 
ment had the advance. We were pressing the Confederate rear 
closely. My company and another were deployed. A slight 
skirmish occurred with the rear guard of the enemy’s cavalry 
just as we were entering the town. Our course took us 
through the public square and just as we filed in I recognized 
our adjutant, James Hayden, now of Oak Park, Chicago, an- 
other mounted officer who had bravely preceded us. We 
passed in sight of the residence of my friends, the Reids. You 
may be sure I was thinking of them, but as it was still un- 
healthy to appear on the streets owing to the occasional ran- 
dom firing, I could not hope to see any of them. Upon reach- 
ing the point where our route lay nearest to their home, I 
found myself irresistibly drawn to look in that direction, and 
saw a lady coming towards me carrying a little flag. I could 
see no other person except the soldiers who were watching for 
the enemy. As the lady approached, I recognized Mrs. Reid; 
she was smiling graciously and carrying the Stars and Stripes 
in a manner that betrayed no fear of stray bullets. She said: 
“T heard your regiment was in advance, so I thought I would 
come out and hear if you were living yet.” 

I expressed some surprise at the risk she was taking and 


106 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


begged her to seek safety in her home. She assured me the 
enemy had nearly all gone and there was no danger now, but 
with this I could not quite agree. She was tastefully dressed, 
and looked charming, and the contrast to my own grimy face 
and hands and dusty clothing was embarrassing to me; but her 
frank, cheery manner somewhat dispelled my embarrassment. 
As it was late in the afternoon, she insisted on-my taking sup- 
per with them. Being still painfully conscious of my appear- 
ance—for we had marched two days with little water to drink 
and none to wash with—I declined the invitation, though not 
ecause I was not hungry. However, when she insisted, I 
agreed that if the colonel would allow me to, I would be at 
her home at six o’clock. As the enemy did not make another 
stand near the town, the colonel gave me leave for an hour. 

So I was with my friends once more. The courage of man 
is lauded; the courage of woman is very often ignored, unap- 
preciated. The cool bravery of Mrs. Reid in coming out from 
her safe retreat and carrying the American flag in open de- 
fiance of danger led to no remark, that I heard, but the idle 
question of one of my corporals: “Who was that lady you 
were talking to?” 

The proximity of the enemy for several days made it pos- 
sible that a fight might occur at any time, so our wagons could 
not come up; and the country had been stripped of nearly all 
that was eatable by the hungry host that had just preceded us, 
therefore I was in a condition to appreciate the excellent fare 
I found at the Reid house. I left these kind people when my 
hour was up, refreshed by the splendid bath I had had, and 
strong and happy after the feast. As I needed strength, they 
filled my haversack with all the canned fruit it would hold. 

After remaining nearly a month at this camp our company 
was ordered to the river at a point known as Boone’s Knob. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 107 


This being the only line of communication to our base of sup- 
plies, the bridge there had to be guarded. We relieved a com- 
pany of the 2nd Kentucky Infantry. After pitching the tents 
and placing the men as guards and pickets, the commissioned 
officers went to the hotel to make the acquaintance of the land- 
lord. We found that he was postmaster, and had the post- 
office and his grocery all in one building with the hotel. He 
also owned the mill. Mr. Merritt was glad to see us, and we 
found him a typical Kentuckian, frank, hospitable and cor- 
dial; so hospitable was he that in less than five minutes after 
we introduced ourselves he invited us to a back room to drink 
his best ‘“‘peach brandy ;” so cordial was he that in fifteen min- 
utes we were warm friends. 

The grocery store referred to consisted mainly of barrels 
and kegs of whiskey and brandy, of which there were many. 
There was also some salt, tobacco, coffee and flour, but the 
main stock was “licker,” as he called it. The peach brandy, 
our friend told us after he had finished two or three glasses, 
was fifteen years old, and could not be beat in the state, which 
we did not doubt from its fine flavor. 

We found him a zealous Union man, loyal all over, which 
of course made it more pleasant for us; a man of excellent 
common sense, but probably more taste for peach brandy than 
literature. His learning was not impressive, except on the sub- 
ject of horses; on that subject he was at home. He knew the 
history of every racer in the state and could trace their pedi- 
grees back indefinitely; he also knew the individual character- 
istics of each of them. 

After a pleasant hour, we returned to camp, only a few 
hundred yards away at the foot of the Knob, carrying with 
us an invitation to dine with him the next day. Before we left 
he desired to know if we were fond of roast pig, and when we 


108 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


pleaded guilty, he said he would have his boy kill one that 
afternoon. We begged him to go to no trouble for us, as we 
would be glad of any change from army rations. That after- 
noon I heard a great commotion, with loud squealing, coming 
from a hog pen near the road, between the hotel and our 
camp, and I walked up, fearing that some of our boys were 
making themselves too free with our friend’s livestock. To 
my relief I found a colored man, probably fifty years old, kill- 
ing a pig. This man was the “boy” of whom Mr. Merritt had 
spoken. I learned that all male slaves, regardless of age, were . 
called “boys” in Kentucky. 

Jackson and I spent the next forenoon in exploring Boone’s 
Knob. We were amply repaid for the fatigue experienced in 
making the ascent, for on reaching the summit we enjoyed a 
delightful view and returned with surprising appetities, in 
time to partake of the roast pig. 

Soon we were all seated at a spread of great abundance 
and variety. The pig the “boy” had butchered was roasted 
whole, ‘“‘done brown” to perfection. In addition, the ancient 
peach brandy to which we had been introduced the previous 
day must be tried to compare it with some apple brandy that 
our host said was twelve years old. He insisted that we give 
this apple brandy a critical trial in order to determine which 
we preferred, as he intended presenting us with as much as 
we could use while at the Bridge. This, of course, we de- 
clined, saying we did not drink, a remark to which he made no ~ 
reply; I am sure he did not comprehend its meaning. 

During the conversation, which did not lag, he said to me 
as I sat near him: “You've got the writenest set of men I’ve 
ever seen!” I did not get his meaning, and asked for an ex- 
planation. “Why, I mean that the Kentucky Company that 
was here before you fellers came stayed two weeks, and in all 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 109 


that time they only writ ten letters; you fellers that haven’t 
been here two days writ about twenty that’s in the office now 
to go.” 

I now understood him. He had coined a word to suit the 
case (Mr. Merritt had as good a right to do that as did Web- 
ster or Worcester), so I told him the number was so large 
owing to a desire on the part of the boys to let their friends 
know we had changed our camp; that tomorrow there would 
probably not be half so many. 

“That may all be; may be not any will write, but still you 
are certainly the writenest men I ever saw. Twenty in one day! 
Kin all write?” 

“Yes,” I replied, “all but that little black-whiskered Vir- 
ginian that I cautioned you yesterday not to sell any liquor to. 
We have four men in the company who have taught school.” 

This information that the company contained so much 
learning astonished him. Before dinner was over a friend of 
our host came in and was introduced as Doctor Evans, but, 
owing to the urgency of a professional call, he could not re- 
main long enough to dine with us. He remained long enough, 
however, to take several drinks. He was a gentleman of mod- 
est, pleasant address, middle aged, rather handsome, and 
seemed to be an intimate friend of the family of Mine Host. 
When preparing to remount his horse he declared his regret 
that, from the nature of his call, he could not eat with us and 
drain a few more glasses, so, bidding us good-bye, he rode 
rapidly up the pike. 

As we watched his thoroughbred disappearing in the dis- 
tance, Mr. Merritt remarked: “There goes a good man, every 
inch of him. He is the last of the Evanses.” 

“Who are the Evanses?” I asked. 


110 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


“Don’t you mind that big fight between the Hills and the 
Evanses down here? It was in the papers.” 

One of us thought he did, but the recollection was faint. 

Were there any killed, Mr. Merritt?” 

“Were there any killed?” he echoed in reply. “I should 
think so; all the Hills and relations, about twelve, I reckon, 
and all the Evanses and their relations, about ten. This was 
the only one left, and he was hit in the shoulder. They thought 
it would kill him, but he is all right now, and the fight is over 
cause they’re all dead but him. They kept it up for about 
seven years. I am glad they did not kill this one, he’s a friend 
of mine, and as good a man as there is in Garrard county.” 

We spent two weeks at the Bridge, listening almost daily 
to Merritt’s stories of Daniel Boone, as they were handed down 
to him by his wife, who was a lineal descendent of the great 
hunter. Surrounded by the romantic scenery which has be- 
come so prominent in history, the spot where the first historic 
tragedies of Kentucky were enacted, in an atmosphere that 
echoed with old traditions and incidents of the bravest pio- 
neers that ever dared hardships or hostile foes, it was a genu- 
ine picnic for us. We were “lords of all we surveyed.” We 
drilled when and where we desired; we roamed the fine forests 
and explored the wonderful caves. All was real happiness, 
and if we could have banished the sight of our guns and blue 
coats, we would have forgotten that there was bloody strife 
in the land. : 

When the order came for us to march, it was with the keen- 
est regret that we contemplated leaving our pleasant location, 
for these two weeks had passed as a beautiful dream. We 
were seated on the hotel veranda one afternoon when a cav- 
alryman rode up and inquired for the officer in command. 
We pointed to Jackson, and the soldier handed him a sealed 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND III 


envelope. He opened and read the message, and said: “Boys, 
we must go.” 

Merritt had been sitting with us telling a Daniel Boone 
story—he was by nature a good story teller. When Jackson 
told him we must move, he expressed the keenest regret. Call- 
ing the officers into the store, out of hearing of some of the 
company, he said in sad tones, and with sorrowful face: “How 
many empty canteens can you bring me, or anything that will 
hold ‘licker’? I want to make you a little present to take with 
you to remember me.” 

We told him we could not accept any presents; we needed 
nothing additional to have always the kindest remembrance 
of him, and refused to bring the canteens for peach brandy, al- 
though Martin, the Irish lieutenant, was eager to go for them, 
had he received any encouragement. We bade him good-bye 
and hurried down to the company, and soon the drums sound- 
ed the “long roll’ to call in possible strollers. Within an hour 
we were filing out of the field to the pike, our wagon loaded 
_and following. As we passed the hotel everyone was out on 
the veranda, whites and blacks, and when opposite we gave 
them three cheers. 

We arrived at camp about dusk, and as the teamster un- 
loaded a keg that seemed very heavy, I inquired about it. He 
then confessed that it was peach brandy for our tent and that 
he had agreed with Mr. Merritt to bring it surreptitiously, he 
receiving a canteen full before he started for his share in the 
plot. 

It soon became known among the officers of the regiment 
that we had brought with us from the Bridge a keg of “med- 
ical stores,” and this induced so many calls on their part, osten- 
sibly to welcome us back, that it was soon gone. Of this 
I was heartily glad, for, owing to its quality and age, it was 


112 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


a very seductive drink; it was as thick as oil and as sweet as 
honey. I often thought it had much to do with developing a 
taste for strong drink in Lieutenant Martin, a comrade bright 
and brave, and full of warm and generous impulses. Ever 
after that, when opportunity offered, the desire for drink 
seemed to be irresistible, finally causing his ruin morally and 
physically, though his final end was wrapped in mystery. 

We saw Merritt once more. After he heard that Thomas’ 
Division, to which we belonged, was coming North from Mis- 
sissippi after Bragg in that hurried race to Louisville, he knew 
our route would take us through Danville, which was nine 
miles from the Bridge. He stood upon the street corner from 
morning till night for two days watching the ceaseless tread 
of soldiers and hearing the heavy rumble of artillery and army 
wagons until, as he was about to give up the watch, he heard 
that Thomas’ men were coming. He took heart again and 
watched closely, but, being covered with dust, we would have 
passed without being recognized had not one of our men seen 
him and called to me, pointing to him by the roadside. All 
of our company officers dropped out to see their friend. He - 
was delighted to see us once more, and had much to tell us, 
but it was a sorrowful story. The death of his invalid wife 
was the saddest feature. He told us she had been frightened 
into convulsions by the threat of Bragg’s men, who had held 
that country for several weeks, to hang him. Thus he told 
his tale: 

“When I found them trying to break into my store I in- 
terfered and tried to reason with them; several drawed up to 
shoot me; then one proposed to hang me, and started after the 
rope. In the midst of the fuss my wife attempted to leave 
her room, to intercede for me, something she had done on but 
few occasions for several years. Either through this effort or 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—I‘RIEND 113 


the fright, she fainted, and from that went into convulsions. 
She never rallied. She was dead in four hours after the threat 
to hang me. While I was doing all I could for her, they broke 
into my store and gutted it from stem to stern; there wasn’t a 
drop of ‘licker’ left, nor a pound of anything to eat, and I lost 
every horse, cow and steer on the place.” 

We had been paid off before leaving Mississippi, and were 
in a position to offer our unfortunate friend a little money, so 
we asked him to accept a few dollars as a credit on what we 
owed him for his past kindness and generosity, but he refused 
to take a cent, saying he had plenty of money, that the Con- 
federates did not get that. “I buried it when I heard they were 
coming; they searched my pockets and opened every drawer 
about the place, but found no money.” | 

So we once more bade our friend good-bye. We could 
only sympathize with him. It was all he would accept. It was 
but a year since we had left him, but he looked five years older. 
His loss and bereavement had almost broken his heart. 


CHAPTER IX. 


YANKEE TRICKS—POLITE SERGEANT OCCUPYING CHURCHES— 
SOMERSET, KENTUCKY—OUR SCOUT AND SPY—-HUDSON’S 
FORD—-MILL SPRINGS. 


rated in this chapter are but minor occurrences in the 

tragedy and comedy we were playing, first one then 
the other, at this particular period. I mention these only for 
reason that they are considered unimportant by historians in 
general and are seldom mentioned by them. 

We remained at Camp Dick Robinson until late in the Fall 
of 1861, and many were the tricks that the Northerners per- 
petrated upon the natives of that section as well as on our un- 
suspecting Southern comrades in arms, for we found on.our 


|": incidents of volunteer life which you will find nar- 


arrival none but Kentucky and Tennessee regiments in camp. 

At ten o'clock one night, as some of the boys were return- 
ing to camp, they passed an old blacksmith shop on the out- 
skirts of the city of tents and noticed a light shining through 
the cracks of the old board building. Noiselessly approaching, 
they looked in and discovered that a number of men who be- 
longed to Hewitt’s Kentucky Battery had stolen and killed 
one of Robinson’s pigs. The defunct squealer was dressed and 
hanging from a crossbeam while the men quarreled over the 
division of the spoils. 

The boys that made the valuable discovery made a rapid 
and silent retreat to their quarters to concoct a plan for taking 
that porker. Six of them quickly put on their accoutrements 
and shouldered their guns, while the seventh acted as sergeant 

114 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND II5 


in command. When they arrived at the blacksmith shop with 
measured tread, the command “Halt!” was given in a loud, de- 
termined voice. Then a demand was made that the door should 
be opened or they would break it open. It was promptly 
unbolted. They entered and found the Kentuckians trembling 
with guilt and fear of arrest. The sergeant, with a very seri- 
ous countenance and in commanding tone, asked who had com- 
mitted the outrage. Then commenced criminations and re- 
criminations, each one accusing his neighbor. The sergeant 
then informed them that his orders were to take the pig to the 
General’s headquarters and place them under arrest. Two of 
the guards were ordered to advance and carry the pig off. The 
door was then closed, with guard outside. Presently the guard 
shoved two or three boxes against it and noiselessly left. The 
pig-stealers, supposing the guard was still outside, remained 
in the shop over an hour, but hearing nothing for a long time 
they thought something was wrong. With considerable push- 
ing they removed the boxes and barrels, when, seeing no sen- 
tinels, it gradually dawned upon them. that it was a “Yankee 
trick” to get the pig. Seven men in that company not only 
had fresh pork for many days but had some to sell. 

It is wonderful how acute men will become under neces- 
sity ; amazing are the ways and means devised to gain a point, 
or to get out of camp to furnish themselves with a good dinner, 
not having the means of paying for it. How sharp they were 
to obtain “firewater” when in an exhausted financial condi- 
tion! Three men in the next company to mine thought they 
must have a change of diet. They concluded to patronize the 
hotel kept by a strong Confederate sympathizer at Bryant- 
ville, two miles east of camp. They had no money. Ordi- 
narily this would have been an obstacle. They were no vulgar 
dead-beats, who would get their dinner and then defy their 


116 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


host; they were also too sensitive to eat and then plead pov- 
erty, as this would have been too humiliating. They then de- 
cided on a plan that would secure them a good dinner with- 
out paying for it and the landlord should part with them grati- 
fied and happy. Two of these men got guns and put on their 
accoutrements; the third had by some means secured a butter- 
nut-colored coat, such as were worn by the Confederate sol- 
diers, and a citizen’s hat. 

They approached the hotel from the opposite side of our 
camp with bayonets fixed and between them the suspicious- 
looking citizen in butternut clothing. They entered the hotel 
and ordered the best dinner for three that they could prepare; 
while waiting, they closely guarded their prisoner. In due 
time they were escorted by the landlord to the dining room. - 
About the time the three hungry men had finished their meal, 
the prisoner, sitting a little behnd the other two, suddenly 
pushed his chair back and made a desperate break for the door 
and liberty. It was, of course, the duty of the guards to seize 
their guns and dash in pursuit. Under such circumstances, 
how could they stop long enough to hand the landlord his 
money? They couldn’t! They ran after the prisoner, calling 
loudly, “Halt! Halt!’ As he did not stop, one of the guards 
paused, took aim, pulled the trigger, but the cap only snapped; 
then the other stopped, took aim, fired, but missed the rebel. 
The guards lost distance by stoppng to fire, and the fugitive 
was far ahead, which caused a broad smile on the hotel-keep- 
er’s face. But the faithful guards continued their chase until 
all were out of sight. The host was only too glad the rebel 
prisoner escaped from the Yankee soldiers. 

An order was issued that no liquor should be sold to sol- 
diers by citizens, but the avaricious barkeeper soon forgot to 
fear the order, and the boys had no difficulty in getting it, pro- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND I17 


vided they had the money, which they did not always have. 
In such case they must again resort to ways and means. The 
following is one of their ways: A soldier in a hurried and ex- 
cited manner would enter one of these institutions (they were 
numerous in the first years of the war) and would present his 
canteen to be filled as quickly as possible. When three pints 
were measured in and carefully stowed away under his over- 
coat, which had large pockets sewed in for emergencies of 
this kind, the soldier would feel for his pocket-book and com- 
mence investigating for money, but just about this time a cor- 
poral and two men would rush in, curse the man for selling the 
whiskey, and threaten to arrest the soldier after finding the 
article under his coat, then march the soldier off under arrest. 
When a safe distance away, there would be a fair division. 

A very common trick practiced by three or four of my men 
who seemed to have been born with an unquenchable thirst for 
strong drink, was to color water with a little scorched sugar, 
which would give it a whiskey tint. Filling a canteen with 
this colored water, they would stow it away under their over- 
coats, in the capacious pockets where there would be always an 
empty canteen. Thus equipped, they would enter a bar-room, 
present the empty canteen to be filled, and then put it away in 
the large pocket. The soldier would then ask his friend the 
barkeeper to wait on him a few days for the pay, or would 
offer him a Confederate bill, well knowing that both proposi- 
tions would be refused. Upon getting the refusal, he would 
assume an injured expression and say that it was hard that a 
man out fighting for his country on small pay should be re- 
fused trust for a little whiskey. This appeal would, of course, 
have no effect on the stony heart of the barkeeper, who would 
demand the canteen back, to pour the whiskey into the barrel 


118 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


again. But the soldier would not make any mistake—he al- 
ways produced the canteen containing the colored water. 

From the Bluegrass region, the land of plenty and charm- 
ing women, we were marched South until we arrived at Som- 
erset, Kentucky, not far from the Cumberland river. It was 
comparatively a poorer and much rougher country than where 
we had previously camped. We passed through Lancaster 
(already alluded to), also through Stanford, where we ar- 
rived about six or seven o’clock Sunday evening. 

This being the first year of the war, we were sometimes 
allowed, during severe weather, the luxury of sleeping in 
churches or public buildings, but this comfort soon ceased. At 
Stanford we were assigned to churches; two companies came 
to the Presbyterian church, which had been assigned to them, 
and found the congregation holding services. The situation 
was embarrassing. They wanted to enter without delay, as 
they were cold, hungry and tired. A consultation was held, 
each captain urging the other to enter and dismiss the meet- 
ing, but each refusing. At this point a sergeant proposed that 
he would discharge the unpleasant duty to the best of his 
ability. “TI will, in a mild and polite manner, explain the situa- 
tion to the minister and congregation, so that he can dismiss 
them without offense,” he said. The proposition was accepted 
promptly, as it relieved both captains from the awkward duty. 
The captain to whose company the sergeant belonged knew 
that the man was not distinguished for elegant language, nor 
was he a Chesterfield in manners, but hoped that on this occa- 
sion he would be not only polite and discreet, but would speak 
appropriately to the occasion. As the sergeant was about to 
enter, he was again cautioned to be dignified and mildly ex- 
plain the situation outside, and ask the minister to kindly let 
them have possession, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 119 


He promised to do that, and even more, and it is quite pos- 
sible that he had a neat little speech formulated in his mind, 
but if he had it-must have escaped him. All he did was to 
enter the pulpit, lay his hand familiarly on the minister’s 
shoulder, look him in the face, and deliver this laconic speech: 

“We want you to dry up, for the boys are out there cold 
and hungry, and want in. Git these people out on the double- 
quick.” 

The delicate hint was quickly taken by the minister, who 
acted promptly. In a few minutes the congregation was out 
and the boys in. Ever after that, his comrades said, the ser- 
geant gave himself credit for ability in skillfully managing a 
delicate matter. 

My company (for Jackson was not with us now) and Com- 
pany B this night occupied a church together, and here an acci- 
dent occurred that alarmed us, causing me great anxiety for 
several hours; it looked for a time as if it might be a tragedy. 
Unfortunately, as soon as the ranks were broken, several of 
those who were ever thirsty and who belonged to the “bad 
tent” went in search of stimulants. Evidently they did not 
search in vain, for in an hour or two they returned, noisy and 
quarrelsome. Those who caused the main trouble were Irish 
—good soldiers and well-behaved men when sober. One in- 
dulged in loud whooping and yelling in the anteroom, to the 
disturbance of those sleeping in the main room. It was espe- 
cially mortifying to me, as all the disturbers belonged to my 
company. I always prided myself on having a well-disciplined 
company. I sent a sergeant out twice to preserve order, with 
only temporary results. After being awakened four or five 
times, I went out in the midst of much profanity and chal- 
lenges to fight. I found one of the Irishmen, whom I shall 
not name on his children’s account, seeking a fight with John 


120 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Kelly, with whom he had had a little misunderstanding a few 
days before. Kelly was the smaller of the two, but not averse 
toa fight. He was not noisy. He was desperate and reckless 
when in a fight, and I could see that he was now eager for a 
fray. Not many months before we left home he had served 
a sentence in the Ohio penitentiary for killing a man in a 
saloon fight. The term he served was short, for it was clearly 
shown in the evidence that he was not the aggressor. As 
soon as I came out I ordered that the disturbance cease. The 
order was obeyed for a few minutes, only long enough for 
me to get back to bed, when I could hear it as loud and angry 
as ever. Returning, with my patience exhausted, I gave the 
principal disturbers, naming them, three minutes to go to bed 
or be tied. All obeyed the order the moment it was given, 
excepting the chief aggressor. Kelly left the anteroom of 
the church, but quickly returned, bringing with him a rope. 
Whispering to me, he said: 

“Cap, let me in to him; I will down him while the boys 
tie him.” 

The noisy man was silent, but did not move. The three 
minutes were up, and I looked at Kelly who, in his eagerness 
to carry out his intention, reminded me of a terrier preparing 
to pounce upon a rat. I had only to nod my head, when he 
sprang forward like a tiger, delivering a blow as he sprang, 
on the soldier’s temple, knocking him backwards, his head 
striking the corner of the steps leading to the gallery. I 
saw and heard the head strike, and almost instantly noticed 
a stream of blood gushing from the head to the floor. Kelly 
was on the prostrate form of his comrade, calling upon the 
boys to tie him quickly, but I knew from the fall that he 
needed no tying. Taking hold of Kelly to get his attention, 
I said: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 121 


“Let go of him—he needs no tying; do not struggle with 
him; I think you have killed him.” 

Instantly standing up, he looked at me with a frightened 
expression, the horrible thought coming to him, as he after- 
ward told me, that now he had the blood of another human 
being on his hands and conscience. 

“What can I do for him?” were his first words. 

“Get some water as quickly as you can; wash his hands 
and bathe his face. Bradshaw, go for the surgeon as soon 
as you can.” 

I could see the tears falling from Kelly’s eyes as he worked 
over his lifeless comrade. No mother could have shown 
more tender solicitude. We carried the form to the veranda 
for purer air, as by that. time the anteroom was filled with 
soldiers. In a few minutes, much to our relief and joy, we 
vould see signs of consciousness. Especially was Kelly happy. 
The surgeon arrived, and after cutting much of the hair away, 
made a careful examination. He found the skull not frac- 
tured, but concussion of the brain might follow; the soldier 
would not be fit for duty for several weeks; he must have 
careful watching for a number of nights, as delirium might 
appear at any time. To this Kelly promptly said: 

“T will nurse him, and I thank God it is no worse.” 

The next day he was able to travel in ambulance with 
his careful nurse, and-ever after that the two were the most 
devoted friends, until at Chickamauga the noisy soldier, 
who had given so much trouble at Stanford, was taken pris- 
oner. He came back to our home village not long before the 
war ended, a mere skeleton, and did not survive his return 
very many years. On the same awful field poor Kelly was 
killed. 

After a day’s march we reached Somerset, Kentucky, find- 


122 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


ing our old neighbors, the Tennessee and Kentucky regiments, 
who had preceded us by a few days. 

After our arrival we lost our scout and spy, Fred Connor, 
who, we afterward learned, was taken prisoner about seven 
miles from camp, near the enemy’s line. He was reconnoi- 
tering in citizen’s clothes, when he unexpectedly came upon 
the Confederate cavalry scouts, who had started out to make 
a reconnoissance near our camp. He was taken to their en- 
trenchments at Mill Springs, where he was held in close con- 
finement to await his trial as a spy. The trial was held and 
he was condemned to death, but the day before the execution 
the battle of Mill Springs was fought and the enemy defeated. 
After the battle he was placed under guard of ten men and 
taken off with the retreating army to a point in Tennessee 
about fifty miles from the battlefield. The guard, tired of 
marching through the mud for several days, lost its vigilance; 
all went to sleep one night and Connor made his escape, get- 
ting back to our lines before we left Somerset. He had re- 
markable success in all his expeditions. He was daring, with 
great caution and coolness, rarely allowing his love for adven- 
ture to run away with his discretion. He was scout and spy 
from 1861 to 1865, and was a great favorite with General 
Thomas, who had implicit confidence in him. He is still liv- 
ing near the little town of Buchtel, in Southern Ohio, in pov- 
erty and indigence. 

Thinking of our scout a few years ago, after one of our 
yearly reunions in Ohio, I wrote to him, expressing my disap- 


pointment that he did not meet with us and in that manner 


heard of his circumstances. 

Two days after the battle of Mill Springs our regiment 
was ordered to make a reconnoissance in the direction of 
Hudson Ford, about seven miles from our camp and about 


” 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 123 


the same distance from the enemy’s entrenchments. We re- 
mained at the Ford about twenty-four hours, in the mud, 
rain and snow, with but little fire and no tents, the fires being 
prohibited, that our presence might not be betrayed to the 
enemy. 

Early on the evening of the day after our arrival we were 
ordered back to camp at Somerset. One of our boys, a deli- 
cate one by the name of Tracey, we found too sick with a 
high fever from the exposure he had undergone, to march. 
The Colonel had neglected sending an ambulance along, so 
we were compelled to leave Tracey at a farmhouse, the farmer 
promising to take good care of him for a few days if paid in 
advance. 

We had not gone over a mile on our march until it became 
dark, the gloom and intensity being increased by a fog, for 
there had been rain and snow for several days. We found 
the low places in the road filled with mud and water over our 
shoes, but we were compelled to keep to the road or, in the 
extreme darkness, lose our direction. Before it became pitch 
dark I saw near me one of the youngest and weakest of my 
company stumble and fall in the mud and water, and from 
the way he staggered after rising, I could see that his heavy 
gun and saturated clothing were too much for him, so I hur- 
ried up and offered to carry his gun a few miles. I was sure 
this would be a great relief, for a Springfield rifle was a big, 
cumbersome piece. He handed it to me, with many thanks, 
telling me he would feel stronger soon; that I must call him 
and he would take it again; making no complaint of his wet, 
weak and cold condition. He was not of the complaining 
kind. I never regretted this little act of kindness to Bennie 
Cain (for that was his name). Not long after, he was 
wounded and died. In the midst of darkness and confusion 


124 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


we became separated, and I carried the gun into camp for him. 

Not long after dark the battalion lost its organization and 
we struggled along, not marching but wading through the 
mire. The stronger men got in about ten o'clock, the weaker 
ones about midnight. 

Early in the morning I was awakened by the roar of artil- 
lery and volleys of small arms not far away. I jumped up, 
knowing we would soon be called into line, and hurried off 
in the direction of the battle. I first ran to the cook’s tent’ 
and aroused him, telling him to boil coffee and slice the raw 
side meat, for I thought we would be allowed time to fry it. 
_ When I returned, my lieutenant and first sergeant were up 
and dressed. Saturated to the skin with mud and water, 
and utterly exhausted, many had staggered into camp, throw- 
ing themselves on their blankets to rest before undressing 
for a good, dry sleep; but with many, when once down, nature 
refused to give up even that miserable rest long enough to 
prepare for one less dangerous and much more comfortable. 
These poor fellows were compelled to remain in their chilling 
clothes, for they slept so soundly that we were compelled to 
shake them and call as if to arouse the dead; some we even 
had to drag from their blankets and push into line for roll- 
call and the distribution of extra ammunition. When these 
wet, muddy boys were sufficiently awake to hear the cannon’s 
roar, they took the extra rounds of supplies without a question, 
not one pleading: “I am too tired to march, can’t I be ex- 
cused? I feel chilly and sick from last night.” Only two 
were excused because of the bad condition of their shaes, and 
it was understood that they were to go back to where our sick 
comrade had been left on the previous day, to bring him in 
on a horse furnished by the quartermaster. On our return 
from the battlefield we found that the two soldiers had come 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 125 


back without Tracey, he having been delirious with fever and 
too sick to ride. This was the last we ever saw or heard of 
him; we left the country a few days later. | 

By the time the boys had answered roll-call and put away 
their extra ammunition, the cook had several kettles of boiling 
coffee and the camp table was spread with the sliced bacon. 
We hurriedly attacked the hot coffee and meat and bread, 
for we expected every moment to hear the assembly sounded, 
which would put an end to the coffee drinking. A soldier 
cannot well carry and drink coffee while marching over frozen 
ground, but he can eat his meat and bread while doing so. 
Fortunately, however, we ate our breakfast without interrup- 
tion, and then formed, awaiting the “assembly!” 

I still remember how I pitied the men as we stood there, 
cold, wet and tired, awaiting the bugle call. I should have 
liked so much to have selected five or six of the weakest and 
said: “You can’t stand this march after the exposure of last 
night.” I had orders to excuse no one but the two who were 
going for Tracey. 

“Assembly” called, and in a few minutes our battalion was 
ready for marching with five or six other regiments that were 
then in camp with us. The firing was still rapid, but rather 
on the decline; indeed, by the time we were half way to Fish- 
ing Creek the battle was over. This battle is known to history 
as “Mill Springs.” 

Now the scenes of yesterday and last night were repeated 
—slipping, sliding, and in some cases wading—the only dif- 
ference being that now there was a crust of frozen ground 
on the surface, which broke through when stepped on. As 
we approached Fishing Creek, a stream midway between the 
hostile camps, I wondered how we would cross it in its icy, 
swollen condition, for I knew there was no bridge. We were 


~ 


126 GENERAL PuHiL H. SHERIDAN 


within a mile of the stream, and several four-mule teams 
loaded with heavy rope plunged past us, the drivers urging 
the mules to their utmost speed. After the wagons had 
- passed we again took to the muddy road, following them up 
as closely as possible. 

It did not take long after our brief rest for us to arrive 
in sight of the rushing stream, and now we knew what was 
intended with the heavy rope. We saw it already tied, one 
end to a tree on our side, the remainder in the wagon, which 
had entered the water. Each mule, to insure safety, had a 
rider, as the wagon made slow progress. The hawser was 
carefully uncoiled by the soldiers in the wagon and held up 
every ten-or twelve feet by cavalrymen to keep it from the 
water. After many stops and repeated efforts the wagon got 
across, and the mules were detached and fastened to the end 
of the rope. They were then driven to a large tree, stretching 
the rope to its utmost tension, then making it fast to this tree. 
It required no extraordinary intellect to tell us that we must 
wade through the stream, holding by our right hands from 
being swept away, keeping the other hand free to carry our 
guns, with cartridge box on the end of the gun to keep it dry. 
Our regiment was the first to enter. I need hardly say that 
before we had gone ten steps into the melted snow and ice we 
were chilled to the marrow. Upon looking back I saw the 
water clear up to the shoulders of “Butt Cut,’ “Sun Fish” 
and the other little fellows in the company, but we did not 
lose a man by drowning. My impression now is that but two 
were lost out of the whole brigade. 

How thankful we were when we reached the other side! 
But so cold! None of us could speak, our jaws rattled so. 
You will agree with me when I say that the 19th day of Jan- 
uary is not a pleasant time of year to wade through a big 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 127 


stream. As soon as we were safe on the opposite bank, we 
formed into line and hurried up the hill, where we found a 
dense wood with much fallen dry timber and rails. Here 
we halted, stacked arms and broke ranks, and when the colonel 
gave the last order it was not necessary for him to tell us to 
build immense fires to dry ourselves by. 

The sound of battle had now entirely ceased, and we en- 
joyed the luxury of being allowed to stop and dry our cloth- 
ing. We were also told we could make coffee, and might pos- 
sibly not move for several hours, as tidings had been received 
that the enemy had been defeated and Thomas was in pursuit. 

We were only three miles from the battle-field. A cavalry- 
man came up and gave us some of the details of the battle. He 
said that the enemy came out of their works to surprise and at- 
tack Thomas but failed, and were now being driven back to 
their fortifications; that in the morning these would be as- 
saulted. He concluded by telling us: “Then’s when the big 
fight’ll be, for they’re mighty well fixed for fightin’ here. We 
will find ’em on a hill, with breastworks, and lots of cannons. 
A spy told me so a week ago.” So we all wrapped ourselves 
in our blankets by the big, hot fires, and, being warm and dry, 
it required no rocking to put us to sleep. Night found us 
still there. | 

Some time during the night there came the rattle of drums 
and the scream of fifes. Bugles blew, telling us we must 
leave our warm fires and go. We must form and follow our 
conquering comrades. The full moon was now well up in 
the cloudless sky, spreading a soft radiance over the wild, 
tangled scene. 

It did not take us an hour to reach the battle-field, or, 
rather, within sight of it. For some time before we reached 
the dead bodies we could see the stretcher-bearers, with lights, 


128 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


flitting among the trees and brush, looking for the wounded. 
The lights were hovering and nodding in every direction as © 
the bearers collected the wounded and helpless ones. The 
scene was impressive, but weird. 

The first body we came to was of a girlish-faced boy who 
wore the blue; he lay but a few inches from our path, with 
eyes wide open, as if looking at the moon in its full splendor, 
and never did that moon appear more serene than it did that 
night when looking down on those white, drawn faces, up- 
turned to its radiance. Soon we reached the spot where 
the battle had waged hottest, for here the blue and grey were 
thickly intermingled. Here they had fought at close quar- 
ters. It was on this spot that the 9th Ohio made its heroic 
charge, also the roth Indiana. 

We hurried through the rough, brushy woods and fields 
for a distance before halting. We were still among the dead, 
though nearly all here wore the grey, we having passed that 
part of the field where the blue ranks had stood. Soldiers 
hurrying out and in at a lighted tent by the roadside aroused 
my curiosity. I entered, and was surprised and shocked to 
find the nude body of a man with blood upon his breast; he 
had received a mortal wound. I could not but admire his 
large, symmetrical form. Nearby a soldier stood on duty 
with fixed bayonet. Answering my inquiry as to the identity 
of the dead man, and why he was stripped of his clothing, 
the soldier said: ‘This is General Zollicoffer, second in 
command of the fight we had today. He was stripped by the 
Tennessee refugee soldiers.as soon as found; they hated him 
for invading Tennessee and desolating their homes in his 
effort to stamp out the Union sentiment there. The clothing 
was torn up to be sent back to the mountains as relics. They 
cast lots who should have it. I was put here on duty by Gen- 


aed 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 129 


eral Thomas to prevent any further indignities.’ Before I 
left, another soldier came in with a blanket to cover the dead 
General. 

The bugle now sounded the forward, and I hurried to my 
place in the moving column. It was light enough to see, scat- 
tered along the road, guns, blankets and knapsacks, thrown 
away by the enemy in their efforts to escape from Thomas’ 
closely pursuing battalions. 

It was nearly light when we reached Thomas’ lines, drawn 
up in battle array, facing the works of the enemy, which were 
plainly visible, with their cannon frowning upon us. The line 
moved to the right and made space for our regiment and others 
that came up with us. We were getting ready to assault. The 
Opposition appeared so strong on the eminence they occupied, 
and so many cannon poked out their black, threatening mouths 
from the embrasures, that I wished myself back again by the 
comfortable fire we had left an hour before. Then came the 
order to fix bayonets. When I repeated this order to my 
company I could distinctly feel a good sized lump in my 
throat. After the rattle of the fixing of bayonets had ceased, 
all was still as death. I thought I could hear my heart beat- 
ing, and imagined it made as much noise as the fixing of bay- 
onets had done, and wondered if my boys could hear it. I 
was losing my self-respect, and became ashamed. It was a 
poor time to joke, but I attempted it to divert attention. 

Stepping in front of the company and facing it, I said: 
“Tl bet a dollar that Sun Fish and Butt Cut will be the last 
ones to reach the enemy’s works.” 

These men were the smallest in the company, but of un- 
disputed endurance and bravery. Soldiers are fond of pet 
names arising from personal appearance, characteristics, or 
some incident. Sun Fish would have looked very much like 


130 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


a sunfish had his head been turned sidewise to conform with 
his flat, thin body. Butt Cut, a German, was his opposite in 
shape—short, thick, and rather fat. They always marched 
together. When I made the offer, Sun Fish promptly took 
me up, saying he was sure of that dollar if he didn’t get killed 
while trying. The boys laughed at his prompt, brave reply. 

While speaking of poor little Sun Fish I shall digress to 
tell the reader that his narrow, queer, sharp head was shot 
off by a solid shot in front of Atlanta. One of his comrades 
said that “it made a better looking boy of him but ruined a 
mighty good and brave soldier.’’ Such are the grim jocu- 
larities of soldier life. 

It was broad daylight now and we wondered why the 
enemy did not cannonade us, or why we did not move toward 
their works. Please do not infer that I had any uncontroll- 
able desire to be led against those threatening guns and the 
thousands of brave fellows behind them. My valor could 
always be easily restrained under such circumstances, for one 
could see from their well-located batteries and the distance 
intervening between us that many must fall before we could 
make their personal acquaintance. This was trying to our 
nerves, for we had never before stood so long in the cold fac- 
ing the enemy and waiting for the signal of battle, and yet 
it was not so trying as to sit in a dental chair and wait for 
the operator while he selects his instruments of torture and 
commences the horror of extracting teeth. Having tried 
both, I know whereof I speak. 

Suddenly we noticed a column of smoke in the direction 
of the river, to our left, but, hills intervening, we could see 
nothing else; then a cannon shot was heard in the same direc- 
tion. I felt sure this was the signal for battle, but all became 
still again. Soon we saw mounted men riding between our 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 131 


lines and the fort. One came toward our regiment, our gen- 
eral riding out to meet him. Then we could hear loud cheer- 
ing in the direction of the smoke. The mounted man rode 
farther on, to our right. Meantime, our general and colonel 
met in front and held a short interview, after which the colonel 
rode back to us and communicated the surprise that the enemy 
had evacuated their works by steamboat, going to the opposite 
side of the river. After taking the last load across, they blew 
up the boat, this being the report we had heard a few min- 
utes before. 

After the receipt of this news, it was surprising how soon 
the lump in my throat became reduced and the action of my 
heart returned to normal. For once I felt under deep obli- 
gation to the enemy. From line of battle we formed into 
column again and marched into their works, where we spent 
an hour or two looking about their snug winter quarters, eat- 
ing their cooked food, and drinking coffee that was yet warm. 
We found everything admirably fitted for permanent. winter 
homes. There were hundreds of the neatest log cabins, which 
were not only comfortable but had evidences of luxury and 
sometimes of refinement. Books were abundant, with violins, 
guitars, sheet music, etc. The cabins were so superior to 
anything I had seen in army life that I was tempted to inquire 
of a colored man we found in one of them, as to who was the 
author of so much comfort and taste, adding that I was sur- 
prised at the industry and skill of the southern soldier. 

“God bless you, Massa, it wasn’t de soldiers built de 
cabins; we colored people dat dey fotch along when dey come 
hyr done all de wo’k. Mighty nigh ebry soldier had his boy 
along. We’uns done de wo’k; de soldiers didn’t do nuffin’ 
but eat, sleep, fiddle, an’ play cya’ds. I belonged to Massa 


132 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Strong, of Winchester, Tennessee. Dis was his cabin; me — 
an’ anodder colored boy built it.” 

“How does it come you did not go back with him?” 

“In de big fuss o’ gittin’ away dis mawnin’, across de rib- 
ber, he forgot some clo’es, an’ befo’ de boat start, he say, “Sam, 
you run up an’ git my clo’es an’ dat fiddle dat’s hangin’ on de 
wall.’ 

“So I come back an’ got de clo’es an’ de fiddle, but I didn’t 
go back to dat boat no mo’. I went an’ hid back ob dat bluff, 
fo’ I heah ’em say you’uns wus soon comin’. So you’uns 
hyr now, an’ I’m gwine to stay wif you.” 

Mill Springs was one of our first complete victories. It 
had all the fruits of a victory—driving the enemy out of that 
part of Kentucky, taking their cannon and camp, with thou- 
sands of dollars’ worth of property in the shape of horses, 
mules, wagons and much camp and garrison equipage, they 
fleeing from the battle-field in wild disorder. 

In two hours we were called back into line again to go 
back to our camp. When we arrived at the battle-field, they 
were burying the dead, our men in separate graves, the 
enemy in trenches that were long enough to hold fifty or sixty 
in each trench. When we came to that cold stream again we 
found the rope still stretched across and the water as cold as 
ever, but there was this difference, we could strip now, for 
we were in no hurry and after crossing we could have good, 
warm clothing. What a luxury that would be over the previ- 
ous day! In addition to that, the conditions had changed— 
we were the victors now. There was a thrill of pleasure in 
that—it made us happy, even if not warm. | 

After crossing, it took us a long time to dress, longer than 
it takes a Beau Brummel to adjust his faultless attire, but 
for quite another reason. We trembled so we could not hold 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 133 


our trousers, nor button them when on. At this place I sent 
one of my men, who had secured a horse and bridle at the 
enemy’s camp, as a courier to our cook with instructions to 
have plenty of hot coffee, with everything else the camp 
afforded. After reaching camp and partaking of this supper, 
we were not long in undressing, a comfort we had not enjoyed 
for several days. We soon fell into the sweet sleep of abso- 
lute safety and confidence, for now there were none to alarm 
or disturb us. The enemy was defeated and driven back. 


GHARTER XG 


CROSSING THE CUMBERLAND — GENERAL THOMAS-——ON TO 
NASHVILLE—DEATH BY DROWNING—TYING SOLDIERS— 
SHILOH. 


and we crossed the Cumberland in small detachments 

in an old scow-bottomed ferryboat. The spectacle 
would remind an onlooker of the picture of Washington 
crossing the Delaware. Owing to the rickety condition of 
the boat, it took the brigade nearly two days to cross. 


A ITER a few days’ rest our brigade was ordered South, 


After a two days’ march southward, we camped for sev- 
eral days, then returned to the river, recrossing it in the dan- 
gerous old boat again. The object of this march I never 
learned, unless it might have been to threaten Nashville on 
the east as Buell was then doing from the north. 

What our destination would be after recrossing, no one 
knew. Our field officers might have known, but we had 
learned by this time not to ask questions, as it was not sup- 
posed to be a soldier’s business to know where he was going; 
his duty was to obey. Nothing annoyed our lieutenant- 
colonel, a soldier by profession, more than to ask him where 
we were going. He regarded it as highly impertinent and 
unsoldierly. We did know this, that we were going north 
again through the muddiest, stickiest, deepest roads that man 
ever traveled. Nearly half the time the men were pushing 
and pulling at the wagons to assist the poor, fagged-out mules 
and horses from one mudhole to another. 

After many days of this kind of trying labor we reached 

134 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 135 


the vicinity of Lebanon, Kentucky. Here the pushing and 
pulling by soldiers and cursing by the teamsters ceased, for we 
had reached a good macadamized pike. The change was as 
complete as if we had suddenly reached the Promised Land. 

It is a remarkable fact that when the head mule team saw 
the pike they commenced braying, which was understood and 
repeated by the next team, and so on, back for miles. ‘Thus 
was the good news communicated in mule language clear to 
the end of the train. The head teamster said: “As soon as 
my mules saw the pike they commenced waggin’ their ears 
and laughin’.” 

It was the general opinion of the soldiers that we were 
on our way to Louisville. Since our victory at Mill Springs, 
we noticed that the disloyal element in the State was not so 
bold nor outspoken. This appeared to indicate a change of 
heart. Indeed, while we were on this march much time was 
employed by the citizens along the route in the effort to con- 
vince us of their unfaltering devotion to the Union, and many 
were the amusing methods they used to make themselves 
solid with us. 

When we arrived at Bardstown, we were camped for sev- 
eral days on the farm of a Mr. Wilson. At his urgent request 
several of our officers boarded with him. He was wealthy, 
owning over three thousand acres of land worth one hundred 
dollars per acre. The officers fared sumptuously every day. 
Decanters of the best liquors were always standing on the side- 
board and visitors were sorely pressed from the time they 
came in until they left, to “take a little.” The first day, the 
old gentleman, in a hiccoughing state, fortified himself as a 
loyal citizen in this way: 

“My son Bill isa d d Secessionist and is in the Confed- 
eratearmy. Myson Jolinisad d Secessionist, but he is so 


136 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


infernally drunk all the time that he couldn’t do any harm. My 
son Sam is a d d Secessionist, but sharp enough to keep 
his mouth shut. My old woman is a d d Secessionist, 
but it is no use to mind a woman, and I am the only Unionist 
about the premises.” 

Mr. Wilson thought he was entitled to great credit for 
being loyal in the face of so much domestic opposition. 

In a couple of days we left the Wilson farm, still heading 
north. The regiments following us began cheering, and the 
sound came nearer, until the troops directly behind us took 
it up. I looked back and recognized General Thomas and 
escort coming. As he passed us we gladly took up the cheer, 
which was long and hearty. We had been with this splendid 
soldier long enough to appreciate and love him. As he 
passed each regiment he modestly gave some recognition of 
the applause, with more or less embarrassment, for he always 
disliked to attract attention. JI never saw his old division so 
tired or depressed that they did not salute him with cheers 
as they saw him on the march. His unselfish patriotism, re- 
markable humility of mind and manner, quiet, unobtrusive 
nature and unblemished character, we were beginning to un- 
derstand, hence the reverence and affection in which this noble 
soldier was held by his division was not to be wondered at. 
History has accorded him the elements of not only a good, but 
a great man—not a man in the ranks was more humble than 
he; none was braver, and but few in our army were as able. 
He ignored rank, and refused to accept promotion. In this 
particular he was without a parallel. 

As an instance of the kindness of his heart, at Murfrees- 
boro the army lay for some time after the battle. The roads 
became almost impassable with very deep mud, yet hard- 
hearted cavalrymen would urge their poorly fed and worn 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 137 


horses to the top of their speed, which not only meant death 
to the horse but destruction to that arm of the service, the 
cavalry. Orders were issued to all cavalry regiments that no 
man should ride out of a walk unless his dispatches necessi- 
tated it. Notwithstanding this order they could occasionally 
be seen abusing their horses. At this juncture General 
Thomas ordered a man placed on every road to watch, arrest 
fast riders, and bring them to him for punishment. He had 
no mercy for the soldier who would abuse his horse, and he 
effectually put a stop to that kind of brutality in his command. 
We were impressed by his sweet gravity, his simplicity of 
manner and plainness of speech. May his noble character and 
many virtues be a guiding star for the young men of this coun- 
try and may his fame continue to grow brighter. 

Arriving at Louisville, we expected to take boats there. 
We found the river very high, its banks overflowed and fields 
submerged on both sides. Floating fences, hay stacks, trees, 
and occasionally a small building could be seen rushing down 
the broad sea of muddy water. The Water-god seemed to 
reign supreme. 

Our division was marched to the landing. Above us we 
could see a fleet of boats with steam up. Already many regi- 
ments had gone aboard and dropped down the river. The 
boats would come up in pairs, lashed together, to get their 
loads. About two o’clock our turn came, the “Magnolia” and 
“Forest Queen” taking us and the r2th Kentucky with wagons, 
horses, mules, and a large amount of commissary stores. We 
occupied the “Magnolia.” It was after three o’clock when 
we backed out and swung around in that seething, bubbling sea 
of troubled water. To my imagination, that river appeared 
as a true picture of the angry, troubled condition of the 
country. 


138 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


About an hour before dark the boats approached the Indiana 
shore and tied up long enough to permit the men to go ashore 
and cook their supper. Some did not finish until after dark. 
Our boat was on the out, or river, side from the “Forest 
Queen” with a gang plank laid from one bow to the other 
to get ashore. After dark there was a rumor among the men 
on our boat that a man was seen stepping off the gang-plank as 
he was going from one boat to the other. By this time some of 
the men had gone to sleep, but the boat was so crowded that no 
satisfactory search could be made. About eight or nine 
o'clock Sergeant Nichols came to me and reported that he 
could not find Henry Rehm, who was detailed for duty that 
night; he had found his gun and traps but could hear nothing 
of him. 

This startling information, added to the rumor of a man 
having been seen stepping off the gang plank, caused me evil 
forebodings. I directed every man of my company who had 
not gone to sleep to search for the missing soldier, even in- 
specting the boat the Kentuckians were on. At ten o'clock 
we gave up the search. Jn the morning the gun, blankets and 
accoutrements were still unclaimed, and he was absent at roll- 
call. Now there was no reasonable hope left. The theory 
was that the light from the boat had cast a shadow of the plank 
on the water, and Ream, in the dim light, had taken this for 
another plank and thus stepped into the river, the rapid cur- 
rent instantly carrying him between the boats, so that he had 
no time to give an alarm. 

It was always a trying duty to me to report the death of 
a member of my company to friends at home, and especially 
was it so at this time. A pathetic picture presented itself to 
my mind’s eye on this occasion. In that cozy farmhouse on 
the eastern hillslope a few miles west of our village, I could 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 139 


see the quiet, patriotic father and affectionate mother, the 
little brothers and sisters, as they gathered about the bearer of 
the tidings. I knew Henry to be one of the kindest and most 
dutiful of sons and brothers; not only good and kind, but, 
being the eldest son, almost the mainstay of the family. Had 
he been killed in action and the field remained with us, as it 
always did in the Army of the Cumberland, with one excep- 
tion, the body would have been sent home, but the angry 
waters denied even this meager comfort. 

This company seemed ill-fated in this respect; three others 
were lost by drowning. In each of these cases we were in 
rapid pursuit of the enemy at the time of the accident. In 
losing Ream, we lost as good a man and soldier as there was 
in that division. He was intelligent, obedient, cheerful and 
brave. 

The next night we landed at Nashville. The Confederate 
army had evacuated the day before. In the morning we found 
the stores and business houses all closed. The gray battalions 
were nowhere to be seen, but instead, blue lines marched with 
cadenced step through the city to their camping-grounds in 
the vicinity. All day the streets echoed with the tramp of 
the hated Northerner. The citizens did not meet us with gar- 
lands and cordial words of welcome, but looked moody and 
sullen; scorn and hatred were in their faces, but they were all 
compelled to treat us civilly, except the women, who sneered 
at us as we passed, expressing in many ways their bitterness. 
The Stars and Stripes waved from only one building in the 
city. 

We remained there until afternoon, then marched out on 
the Charlottesville pike, probably four miles, and there camped, 
not far from the Cumberland river. 

About the middle of March, five divisions besides ours 


140 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


left Nashville, going South, taking the finely graded road to 
Columbia. We believed our destination to be either Alabama 
or Mississippi, where it was thought the enemy would con- 
centrate to fight for the Mississippi valley. The road to 
Columbia took us through one of the most beautiful and 
wealthy portions of the State. It almost surpassed the 
famous bluegrass regions of Kentucky. The residences of 
the slave owners were palaces, indeed, with extensive, highly 
ornamented grounds surrounding them. Here and there a 
- group of deer lent beauty and life to the scene. It being the 
first year of the war, all property was protected by our gen- 
erals, therefore the boys could only feast their eyes and not 
their stomachs, as they did the year after. Artificial water- 
falls and pretty lakes interspersed the views of these splendid 
groves. This was the natural home of the mockingbird, 
which poured forth its rich, plaintive airs from morn till night, 
each bird seemingly vieing with the others as to which could 
welcome the strange blue host with sweetest melody. 

On the third day’s march we passed through the delightful 
town of Franklin, near which, two years later, the bloody battle 
bearing that name was fought, with Generals Schofield and 
Thomas leading the Union forces. A march of twenty-three 
miles through this beautiful, fertile country brought us to 
Spring Hill, where we camped for several days. The brigade 
nearest to us, and belonging to our division, was commanded 
by Colonel Bob McCook of the 9th Ohio, an exclusively Ger- 
-man regiment with the exception of the colonel, who, however, 
spoke the language fluently. They were from Cincinnati, and 
known in the army as the “Bully Dutch” on account of the 
splendid charge they made at Mill Springs, to which I refer 
on another page. 

The 9th Ohio, 18th Regulars, and two other regiments con- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND I4I 


stituted the brigade. The officers of the regulars had been in 
the habit of cruelly punishing their men for trifling offenses. 
It was common to see a regular tied up by the thumbs or 
bucked and gagged. McCook, going through that regiment 
one day, found a poor fellow groaning with pain, suspended 
by the thumbs. Bob McCook’s humane instincts revolted at 
such cruelty, and the man was quickly cut down and an order 
given that no more such outrages should be committed in his 
brigade again. 

A few days later, during Colonel McCook’s absence, the 
18th tied up another man. The punished soldier could be 
seen from the camp of the 9th Ohio. This aroused the “Bully 
Dutch” and they ran through the 18th guard lines and cut 
him down. Several of the field officers of the 18th ran up 
to interfere, but were roughly handled. One of them was 
picked up and thrown among some mules. The other officers, 
fearing the same treatment, retreated and called out two com- 
panies under arms, and with fixed bayonets drove the Ger- 
mans out, not, however, until they had secured the suffering 
soldier and taken him with them. Then the Germans com- 
menced arming to drive the 18th Regulars from their lines, 
but the latter retreated before there was a conflict. For 
twenty minutes I momentarily expected to see a bloody fight 
between the two regiments. It was a surprise to all who wit- 
nessed the fracas that none was killed. 

The goth Ohio was the best drilled and best disciplined 
regiment I saw during the war. Their movements were rapid 
and perfect. I never knew them restricted by camp-guard 
lines ; indeed, they enjoyed more privileges than any other regi- 
ment in our division and never to my knowledge did they 
abuse their privileges. The superior drill and other soldierly 


142 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


qualities could probably be accounted for from the fact that 
nearly half of the men had served in the German army. 

At this place Crittenden’s and Wood’s divisions left us, 
throwing us in the rear of Buell’s army, the six divisions 
making nearly one hundred thousand men. Is it any wonder 
that the superannuated darkey standing by the roadside, when 
accosted by a facetious soldier with the inquiry as to whether 
he “had seed any soldiers go by,’’ opened wide his eyes and 
extended his hands, replying, “Yes, Massa! Yes, indeed! 
Whole worlds of dem!” 

At nearly all the plantations on our route darkies of all 
sizes, sexes and shades came out and watched with wondering 
eyes our ceaseless line, interspersed here and there with bat- 
teries of artillery, glittering grimly in the sunshine as it rolled 
across the dusty road. This was the first of the Yankee sol- 
diers seen in middle Tennessee. Not far from here the beau- 
tiful, cultivatd country rapidly changed to a poverty-stricken, 
densely wooded, swampy district, where every five or six miles 
a farm could be seen that the boys called a “burlesque,” whose 
occupants invariably had more dogs than hogs and more tow- 
headed children than both. This class of people were peculiar 
to some parts of nearly every slave state; in Georgia they are 
known as “crackers”; in Tennessee as “the poor trash’; in 
Mississippi as “pikes.” 

Another day’s march brought us to the banks of the Ten- 
nessee, to a place called Clifton. Here, early in the morning, 
we heard a continuous roar of artillery that proved to be the 
beginning of the battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing. It 
continued until after midnight. The pickets on duty that 
night told us in the morning that the sound was more or less 
continuous until morning, and it seemed to steadily increase 
in energy the whole day following. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—-FRIEND 143 


‘Boats were awaiting us at the landing, and we crowded in 
until apparently every space was taken excepting the cabin. 
For some reason there was a long delay; we did not start until 
late in the afternoon. Before we started, a fleet of hospital 
boats came down from the battle-field, crowded with wounded 
and dying soldiers. One of the boats stopped at our landing. 
From the officers of these transports we heard something of 
the desperate battle that was raging for nearly two days. 
When our boats finally started, the rain was coming down in 
torrents, and continued until we arrived at Shiloh. For some 
reason inexplicable to us, General Schoepf refused to let the 
men occupy the cabin, which compelled them to either go 
below among the horses and mules, or stand on the guards 
in the rain. Being energetically pressed by some of the offi- 
cers, he allowed them to sleep in the cabin. 

When we went ashore at Pittsburg Landing it was still 
raining, but by noon it had ceased and the sun began making 
an effort to peer down between the clouds on the bloody scene 
that presented itself for miles up and down the river. We 
left the boat as soon as we could, camping on the muddy, 
slushy ground. 

It is my intention not to describe battle-fields, but only to 
write what I remember of General Phil Sheridan and incidents 
of minor importance that occurred in volunteer life and that 
are not written up in history as battles and battle-fields, but a 
description of Shiloh as I first saw it will, I hope, be pardoned. 

As I remember this awful field, it was in many places 
swampy and cut up by ravines, generally timbered, but with 
an occasional cleared field. The timber was scrubby in some 
places and dense with underbrush which had all been cut off, 
looking as if it had been mowed with a giant scythe to the 
height of a man’s breast. This was done by the artillery 


144 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


and musketry. It was so evenly and completely cut that it 
conveyed the idea of having been done by the God of War, 
with his Scythe of Death. The large trees were nearly all 
shattered, some cut off by solid shot. The bodies of the slain 
were often lying so close together that one could step from 
one to the other. Their pale faces were washed clean of blood 
and smoke by two days’ heavy rain; their bodies were stripped 
of all their valuables and in many cases their shoes were taken. 
Pockets were all turned out. Dead men and horses with dis- 
mounted artillery lay intermingled, one upon another. A few 
had been buried, but it had been done so hurriedly that the 
hands or feet were often exposed. We came to one grave 
that attracted our attention because of its more careful forma- 
tion, with pickets several feet high driven around it. This 
was the grave of the general-in-chief who commanded the Con- 
federate forces during the battle, Albert Sidney Johnston. 
The protection around his remains was put up at the instiga- 
tion of General Buell. The body was taken up a few days 
later and conveyed by flag of truce to the Confederate line. 
When Buell’s army had all arrived, a reorganization was 
effected with the Army of the Tennessee, making a force of 
over one hundred thousand under command of General Hal- 
leck. General Thomas had the right, General Buell the center 
and General Pope the left. Halleck’s plan was to approach 
the enemy who were in a strong works at Corinth, twelve 
miles away, threaten and take his lines of communication and 
thus force him to come out or be cooped in to starve or sur- 
render. 


GCHAPTERSXT 


LEAVING COMPANY G-——-HOW THE DUTCH WERE FOOLED—MY 
FIRST LOSS IN THE NEW COMPANY—LOUISVILLE LE- 
GION—PANIC. 


the second advance we had made toward the enemy, 

when report became current that by reason of promo- 
tions and deaths there would be a change, or transfer, of the 
commissioned officers from one company to another—a new 
deal, so to speak. | 

I placed no credence in the rumor, probably from the fact 
that I thought it would be unpleasant for me to be forced 
from the company to which I was attached. I thought it 
would not be “for the good of the service,’ reasoning that 
it would be a bitter pill for me to change from my lifelong 
friends and associates to a company of strangers, and felt 
the sting of jealousy toward the stranger who would succeed 
me in my old company. To separate us would be to break 
up a family, and disrupt the tenderest ties of long asso- 
ciation. 

In the midst of these thoughts, as I was sitting in my 
tent the day after first hearing the rumor, I cannot express 
my indignation and unhappiness on receiving an order to 
report to and take command of Company A the next day 
at eight o’clock a. m. After somewhat recovering from the 
shock, and viewing the situation from all its standpoints with 
more calmness, I found one consolation, but that was nothing 
substantial—it was only the fact that Company A was from 

145 


[ WAS probably ten days after our arrival at Shiloh, and 


146 GENERAL PuHit H. SHERIDAN 


the same county. However, I did not know a man in it, 
except the lieutenant commanding; I knew him slightly. 
They were from the extreme southern part, while we were 
from the north end of the county, and the two sections had 
not been very friendly, by reason of a county-seat conflict. 

In my gloom and sadness I went to the “funny tent,” 
charitably called, but sometimes known as the “bad tent.” 
I had never failed in being cured of the blues by spending a 
few minutes with these boys. They were a tonic. They 
were bright, hilarious and witty, not very conscientious, some — 
‘of them far from it. I would be willing to make an affidavit 
that the “funny tent” was not the abode of innocents. It had 
its ex-criminals, whose individual records had not only been 
sensational but would have been sufficiently tragic to have 
suited the imagination of Rider Haggard, without much col- 
oring. Keen wit, the quaintest humor and incessant sarcasm 
were the order of the day from morning until night. Of 
course, there was a fight now and then. This would mar the 
hilarity for a short time, but peace was always quickly restored 
and all was joyful again. Every week or so, in order to pre- 
serve lovely dispositions, promote amiability and encourage 
Christian docility, I was compelled to punish someone in the 
“bad tent” for fighting, especially during the first six months 
we were out. It was remarkable how this element drifted 
into each other’s company. It was affinity, I suppose, on the 
principle of “birds of a feather flock together.” There were 
about ten or twelve of them, enough to fill a Sibley tent. 
(We had this kind of tent the first year of the war, and they 
were palaces compared to the wedge or dog tent we were com- 
pelled to take later.) 

On this big Sibley tent these boys had painted: ‘The 
Aristocrats,’ “Upper Crust,” etc, The personnel of this ex- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 147 


clusive set consisted of four Irish, three Germans, a Swiss, 
and four Americans. I remember one of them, Hen. Jeffers, 
was fond of figurative speech—he abounded in that style; in 
other words, was a compound metaphorist. I will give you 
an instance: He would call a cow, a “milk depot’; a coffin, 
a “wooden overcoat’; a barkeeper, a “gin juggler,’ and his 
gun his “hardware.” 

The report of my transfer to Company A had preceded 
my visit to the “‘bad tent,’ and I found those habitually happy 
and witty boys as gloomy as myself. Our relations had always 
been pleasant except when they had to be punished. They were 
all good soldiers; I never heard one of them complain. But 
it was possible my successor might be a disagreeable tyrant, 
therefore they were sad; besides, they knew how unpleasant 
it was for me to be sent away, so they sympathized with me. 
After a twenty minutes’ visit I left them, in no better spirits 
than when I went in. They could not be gay and lively, in 
view of the separation. When I left the boys next morning, 
I think they were all round me except those on duty, everyone 
expressing in looks and words their sorrow at my removal. 
The only happy feature to me as I bade them good-bye was 
the manifestation of esteem that was unanimous. 

At eight o’clock I was in Company A’s quarters. I was 
welcomed by only one man, Lieutenant Sam Lyons, a very 
brave soldier, but one who disliked to command the company, — 
he having no taste for tactics, the literary part of soldier life. 
My presence relieved him of this embarrassment, my late pro- 
motion making me outrank him. We soon became warm 
friends, and so continued until he met his sad end. 

As I passed up the company street on my way to the cap- 
tain’s tent, I could plainly see that the members looked on me 
as an intruder. I could see them scowl as they peered out 


148 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


at me. After a short talk with the lieutenant, I asked the 
first sergeant to parade the company; I wanted to talk to them. 
In a few minutes they were in line. Now it was plain to be: 
seen that they were in no good humor; they looked sullen. 
This was of different material from my old company. These 
were all Americans, farmers’ sons. I afterward found many 
of them rude and rough, but honest, kind, brave and true. 
Their homes were in the roughest part of our county, the 
Hocking Hills. Many of them in manners were true repre- 
sentatives of the locality from which they came. I had them 
count off, so I could wheel the second platoon to make a 
V-shaped angle. Into this angle I stepped, thus getting near 
them all. 3 

Speaking quietly, I told them I could plainly see that they 
were not pleased, and that it was no surprise to me to meet’ 
with that kind of reception; that my presence as their captain 
made it as awkward and embarrassing for me as it was un- 
pleasant for them. I was forced to be an intruder; I had not 
sought the change or promotion. I could fully understand 
their dislike to be put under command of a stranger while they 
had lieutenants whom they liked and would naturally prefer 
to have command them. Had I been consulted, I should 
rather have remained a lieutenant in my own company than 
to be a captain in another; my attachments were stronger than 
my ambitions. While I appreciated the fact that Company A 
was the post of honor in a regiment, yet I did not want to 
intrude myself. “That I desire you to know this fact is the 
reason I have called you into line. As soldiers, you should 
not question the wisdom of an order; as soldiers it is not ours 
to reason why. - We must do as we are ordered. Obedience 
first of all, come what may to him who obeys, even knowing 
it leads to death.” I seemed to detect a more friendly look 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 149 


when I had concluded. When the second platoon had taken 
its place and the company was dismissed, the unpleasant duty 
of introduction was over, and in an hour friendlier faces 
greeted me. 

An hour later came an order for regimental inspection to 
assemble at ten o’clock. I noticed that the arms were not very 
bright, by reason of marching in rain within the last few days. 
Those that I examined were bright and clean on the inside, 
with locks well oiled, but, owing to all the companies except 
A and B having received new guns within a week, and the 
recent rains, ours would not look well in comparison. I did 
not insist on a general clean-up of the guns and accoutrements 
as it was the first hour I was with them, but expressed fears, 
while in line, as to the result of the inspection. 

At precisely ten o’clock the general commenced examining 
the arms; almost every one was handled by him. When this 
was over our colonel took command again and dismissed the 
battalion. Before we had been in our quarters an hour came 
an order for Company A to report at the same place at one 
o'clock p. m. for additional inspection. We all knew what 
that meant—the morning inspection had not been satisfactory. 
Then every man went to work on his gun. When one o’clock 
came they were all as bright as silver, and of course readily 
passed inspection. : ; 

The next morning we drove the enemy back toward their 
works probably half a mile, but it required some fighting. 
Bob McCook’s brigade joined us on our left, and with that 
an interesting incident occurred in this advance. We could 
plainly see it as it transpired. The “bone of contention” was 
several frame houses in which the enemy had taken shelter, 
and from which they had been firing in perfect safety at the 
gth Ohio (Dutch regiment). The officers held a consultation 


150 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


and determined the enemy should not hold this advantage if 
they could prevent it—that they would drive them from the 
premises. The Germans formed and advanced in splendid 
style, as they always did, across an open field intervening, hav- 
ing perfect confidence in their ability to take the position. 
There was not a shot fired, nor an enemy seen, until they came 
to close musket range of the buildings; then an entire brigade 
rose and greeted them with a volley. This was more than 
the gallant 9th had bargained for, and they went back much 
faster and in less order than they had advanced, followed by 
the enemy. Then there was running, panting and swearing in 
Dutch, but some were left on the field, dead and wounded. 

McCook had already formed the balance of his brigade, 
and advanced at a double quick charge to meet the pursuers, 
who about faced hurriedly, and followed them through the 
woods and well on to their retrenchments. Returning, 
McCook formed his new line on the ground just taken. We 
were then advanced to conform to it. 

The next day, my third in command, I had my first loss 
in Company A. Early in the morning, as he stood in the 
deployed line, Thomas Venning told me that he was very 
thirsty, remarking that he thought there was a stream not 
many steps in front, but that we could not see it by reason of 
the thick underbrush. He asked permission to seek it. I told 
him it was dangerous to advance ten steps, for the enemy was 
very near. This we could tell from the whiz of the balls, 
though we could see no one. They had kept up more or less 
firing since early dawn. Nothing more was said, but the man 
next to him, not long after, saw him leave his place and go to 
the front. As he was returning, and had almost reached his 
place, he was killed. It might have been a chance shot, but 
it is probable that, when getting the drink, he was observed 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND I51 


by a sharpshooter and followed until he came to a clear place, 
thus making a better mark. 

The boy’s father was also a member of the company. As 
soon as he fell he called “Company A; Company A; come 
quickly! Come here!’ A near comrade ran to him. “Tell 
father to come as soon as he can; I am badly hurt in the 
breast.” The father came in time to receive the dying boy’s 
kiss. In an instant more he was dead. 

That shot killed both. The father’s grief was so intense, 
or the shock so great, that he appeared to lose all spirit; he 
sat or walked about in a dazed, abstracted manner, discharg- 
ing his duty, despondent and spiritless, eating but little, and 
seldom speaking. Ina few weeks he was too weak for duty, 
but always willing to make the effort. He was discharged 
thirty days after his son’s death on the ground of general dis- 
ability, and sent home. A few weeks later he died, a clear 
case of broken heart. Previous to the death of the boy, the 
father had more than ordinary strength and endurance, and 
was of bright, cheery disposition. During the short time I 
had been with the company, I had noticed, and heard from 
others, of the remarkable attachment that existed between 
father and son. The disparity in size did not permit them to 
march together in the ranks, but when the ranks were broken 
they sought each other and were inseparable; the affection 
between them was something beautiful, and in strong contrast 
with the many rough, unfeeling features of life during war 
time. 

Next morning, while still on duty at this place, my com- 
pany was deployed, making a long line from left to right. We 
were still in the dense woods, and the men on our left end 
found that we were not far from the enemy’s pickets. One 
crawled up to see. The result was that conversation followed, 


152 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


and there were kindly greetings, with interchanges of tobacco 
and coffee, and an agreement not to shoot that day. But, alas! 
Not more than two hours had passed until orders came to 
attack the enemy! 

I had gone down this long line in the dense woods to 
where the end man had held converse with the enemy, and 
was returning to my place on the right when one of my men, 
looking to the rear, called my attention to a soldier who was 
approaching us very cautiously. He was slowly coming up 
a small ravine, stopping occasionally to observe us through his 
field glass, when, becoming convinced that we were friends, 
he walked faster and showed more confidence. When near 
enough I saw that it was an officer who, coming up, told me 
he was on General Rousseau’s staff, that their brigade was 
resting half a mile back; that the general had sent him to find 
our lines and ascertain all he could of the location of the 
enemy. To account for his caution in coming up, he said he 
was guarding against unconsciously going through pickets 
in the dark woods and blundering into the enemy. He asked 
me what I knew of our front. When I told him how near 
my left was, and also of the conversation my men had had 
with the enemy, he said: “I am sorry I must break the con- 
tract your boys made’ without due notice to the other side, for 
I am ordered to feel the enemy here. I will bring up a com- 
pany which I left a short distance back and make the attack. 
When you hear lively firing, collect your men and take them to 
the right, for if the ‘rebs’ should be in force here they might 
flank me from this side, as it looks the most accessible for 
them.” 

In a short time a company came up and deployed, passing 
through us into the thick woods. They could not have gone 
a hundred yards until the firing commenced and very soon 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—I*RIEND 153 


became brisk, with the reports heavier. The sounds appeared 
to recede, which indicated that the enemy was falling back. 
Soon wounded men were brought to us. The firing rapidly 
decreased, and in a short time there was none to be heard. 

On a preceding page I spoke of the cruelty and inconsist- 
ency of war. I had in mind the promise of my boys to the 
enemy that they would not fire on them that day. How the 
Confederates must have accused us of treachery and bad faith 
when they were attacked a few hours later! Doubtless they 
thought we had agreed to the proposition on purpose to throw 
them off their guard and then attack them. 

In the afternoon the company that had skirmished was re- 
lieved by another, which remained until night, when they, too, 
went back to their brigade. My men then resumed their 
places, as in the morning, and all was quiet until about ten 
o'clock, when a man on duty at the reserve where I slept awak- 
ened me, saying ‘he thought they were fighting in our rear. 
I could hear strange, mixed-up sounds, such as commands, 
screaming, bugle calls, swearing, shooting and the clatter of 
horses’ hoofs all so confused as to be alarming. I got the 
reserve in line and faced to the rear, awaiting developments. 
While standing there wondering and listening there came the 
sound of steps, words, and the breaking of brush; when these 
sounds were sufficiently near we commanded a halt, and called 
on one to advance and explain. The man who stepped for- 
ward was panting and breathless, and between gasps ex- 
plained that he and his companions belonged to Company A, 
Louisville Legion; that their brigade was bivouaced some dis- 
tance back. Their company had been detached from the 
brigade a short distance as outposts; a few minutes before, 
they had been attacked by at least a brigade of cavalry and 


154 GENERAL Poin H. SHERIDAN 


were nearly all killed or taken prisoners. In all probability 
they were the only survivors of Company A. 

I went back with the spokesman to where he had left the 
ten or twelve comrades, and found them as panic-stricken as 
the speaker. When asked if they knew in which direction 
they had been running when halted, a number answered, “To- 
ward our works.” When told that they were about to enter 
the enemy’s lines they could not believe it. 

All the clamor and confusion ‘had now ceased and not a 
sound was to be heard. Even before the frightened men had 
reached us all was silence. I called their attention to this, 
and told them to go back, that there had been no attack. The 
tumult was a mystery to me, but, plainly, there had been no 
fight. But our visitors were loath to move. The panic was 
still upon them. Then one made the excuse that in the dark- 
ness and dense brush it would be impossible to find their regi- 
ment; if I had no objection they would remain with us until 
morning. This, of course, I would not have objected to, but 
my curiosity had been so aroused as to the cause of the dis- 
_ turbance that I proposed to go back with them. I was confi- 
dent the enemy had nothing to do with their fright, and was 
eager to solve the mystery. By this time they became calmer, 
and agreed to go with me. 

After a fifteen minutes’ walk through brush, briers, bogs 
and gutters, I receiving not less than five falls during the trip, 
we arrived at the bivouac of the Louisville Legion and Ist 
Ohio Infantry, which were detached from two other regiments 
not far away. The usual calm had followed the storm, so I 
had no difficulty in finding the cause of the alarm. The 
brigade had stacked its arms, loaded and capped. A battery 
had come out with them. Suddenly a number of the battery 
horses had become frightened in some way, and, breaking their 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 155 


fastenings, ‘had run through Company <A’s sleeping men, 
knocking down the stacked guns, discharging many, and kill- 
ing and wounding several soldiers. In addition to the shooting 
and crashing of the falling arms, the horses had run through 
the improvised brush tents, trampling upon the sleeping occu- 
pants. The sight of the frantic horses, the noice of the guns 
and the cries of the wounded, convinced the half-sleeping sol- 
diers in the demolished tents that the enemy’s cavalry was 
upon them, and a general slaughter was going on. The shoot- 
ing had been heard by the sentinels on duty in our works, 
who fired their guns to give a general alarm, so that everyone 
would fall into the entrenchments to resist the night attack. 
Seventy thousand men were in those trenches in a few min- 
utes, peering into the darkness, with guns cocked ready to 
receive and return the attack. In this condition they waited 
in tle trenches for over an hour, but, as no enemy came, they 
were allowed to go to their tents again. 

I never saw a reference to this panic until 1887, when I 
read a communication in the Indianapolis Tribune headed 
“The History of a Regiment,” by Doctor A. J. Smith. This 
detailed the ‘history of the Louisville Legion, of which the | 
author was a member. | 

He informed the reader that the first time they had met the 
enemy to sustain any loss was at the Siege of Corinth, two 
days before the evacuation, at which time they had a severe 
skirmish, driving the enemy almost into their works. The 
date, the regiment, and other particulars correspond so closely 
to what had occurred to us that I felt very sure this was the 
same incident that was associated with the panic which had 
given us so much anxiety for a time during the midnight 
alarm, but the writer did not mention the details of thie 
startling tumult. The absence of these details excited my 


156. GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


curiosity, and I wrote him, stating my impression and asking 

for an explanation. Here is his interesting reply: 
Indianapolis, Indiana, Dec. 1, 1889. 

Mr. H. C. Greiner, Somerset, Ohio. 

My Dear Sir and Comrade: 

Yours of November 2oth came duly to hand. I neglected 
to answer immediately on account of poor health. 

Your supposition is correct. It was my Company F, of 
the Louisville Legion, that was on the skirmish line at the 
time spoken of. We were relieved late in the evening by 
Company A, an Irish company of our regiment, and it was 
they who were stampeded by the battery horses. After skir- 
mishing all day I, with a number of others, was sent back to 
the landing to bring up a wagon containing ammunition, and 
did not reach the regiment until daylight the following morn- 
ing, when we learned of the panic that had taken place in 
Company A, an Irish company of our regiment, and I did not 
mention the incident in my story for fear I might hurt the 
feelings of some of the survivors of Company A. It was 
ever afterward an eyesore to them; they felt greatly humili- 
ated about it, and inasmuch as they were in reality brave 
men at all other times, our colonel, who was as good as he 
was brave, forbade us to chide them over it. 

I remember your regiment, and remember deploying in 
rear of your picket line. I remember it from the fact that our 
captain asked what regiment the pickets belonged to, and was 
informed that they were the 31st O. V. I. It was our brigade 

and Terrell’s 4th regular battery at the place spoken of by 
you. The 1st O. V. 1, 6th Ind. Inf., and sth, 16th and 
19th regulars, with my regiment (Louisville Legion), consti- 
tuted “Rousseau’s Brigade.” 

I am glad to know the history of a regiment from the pen 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 157 


of a “private soldier’ pleases so many of my old comrades. 
I have received several hundred letters urging me to go on; 
but my ‘health is so poor from old wounds that I shall have 
to take a rest for a month or two, when I hope to resume 
again. 

With that same warmth of feelinz towards you that I have 
to all who offered themselves to their country in her hour of 
peril, I am, 

Affectionately yours, 
A. J. SMITH. 

I have filled up a long interval extending from the time 
Phil Sheridan went to West Point up to the second year of 
the war; for up to this time we had met but once. So I beg 
the reader’s pardon for the lengthy digression in relating 
mere incidents of soldier life and minor scenes in the drama. 

What I have hurriedly and roughly described will apply 
to the average volunteer regiment. Nearly every day the 
dark, and sometimes the terrible, threads would cross the 
light and joyous ones. The bits and fragments, as I can 
think of them and read them in my old diary, made up the 
inside of soldier life. They will not all be sensational, or even 
interesting, for it is impossible to give an accurate picture of 
war life without putting in many little things. 

Up to the time of the Siege of Corinth, Phil Shendin was 
only a captain. That was in the second year of the war. Be- 
fore we left Nashville, in March, I had heard that he was in 
Missouri attending to the affairs of General Fremont, that 
were then in a somewhat mixed state. I had also heard that 
he was commissary of subsistence, or quartermaster, in the 
same state, under General Curtis, and that he had asked to 
be relieved from those duties as his efforts to correct great 
evils existing there met with no encouragement by his su- 


158 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


perior officers. I heard no more of him until about the first 
of April, 1862, in front of Corinth, Mississippi. 

While yet with my first company a detail returned from 
the landing where they had gone for a load of subsistence. 
One of the men told me he believed he had seen Phil Sheridan, 
and that he was bossing some repairs on the road. I asked, 
“Why did you not speak to him?’ To this:the man replied, 
“Oh, I didn’t know him well at home; he was a good deal 
older than I. He wouldn’t have known me, so I did not 
speak, but I think it was him.” 

In the month following we were still in front of Corinth. 
A friend told me that Sheridan had been appointed colonel 
of the Second Michigan Cavalry. This news pleased me for 
various reasons: First, I thought he preferred cavalry; next, 
it would heal the disappointment he had experienced in being 
refused a colonelcy by the governor of Ohio when he had 
asked for that rank in an infantry regiment. The politicians 
had secured those places, having impressed upon the governor 
that volunteers disliked being commanded by regular army 
officers, as they were too strict and tyrannical; that to make 
the war popular he must appoint civilians. I was also pleased 
because I knew his worth, earnestness, patriotism, and general 
fitness, though I did not dream of his extraordinary ability. 
Then I remembered that in our boyhood days he had been 
very fond of riding—now he could get all the riding he de- 
sired. My mind dwelt on the old days when either of us 
would have walked two miles in order to secure a ride of 
one-half the distance. I thought of the switching he had re- 
ceived from his father for riding the spirited stage horses. 
Phil, having been young and small then, had been told that 
it was dangerous to ride those horses and that he must not 
do so again. Either the forbidden fruit was too tempting, or 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 159 


Phil forgot the parental prohibition, but at any rate he was 
caught in the act and a switching followed. 

When relating the above incident to some friends after 
the war, Phil’s mother remarked that that had been the only 
time when corporal punishment was administered to him, but 
it seemed very effective, for he never rode the wild stage 
horses again. 

It was several months later and we were on the march 
through Tennessee when I next heard of Sheridan. My com- 
pany was on out-post duty. I was awakened by the man sta- 
tioned by the road. He was challenging the advance of some- 
one who, when tried, had the countersign and was told to pass, 
but, instead, dismounted and approached the fire. He lit his 
pipe, looked at his watch, and remarked that he was ahead 
of time and could rest for a half hour, explaining that !1e was 
a bearer of dispatches and belonged to the 2nd Michigan Cav- 
alry. By his peculiar accent I discerned that he was a Cana- 
dian Frenchman. I inquired if Col. Sheridan was still with 
that regiment, and the man replied, “‘No, he is promoted to a 
brigadier.” Seeing that I was interested and pleased to hear 
of the promotion he asked if I knew Sheridan, and I told 
him we had been boys together in the same village. Re- 
lighting his pipe, he said: ‘“That little feller will make a great 
general some time, if he doesn’t get killed. We call him our 
‘Fighting Colonel,’ after de Boonville fight. Did you ever 
hear of dat fight ?” 

“IT never did!” 

“Well, sar; he iss a cunnin’ demon in battle. I was with 
him dar.” | 

Then, becoming more enthused he continued: “We were 
away off twenty or thirty miles from reinforcements, with 
only about seventeen hundred men, two regiments, when 


160 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


Chalmers he came at us one morning with four or five thou- 
sand. The battle commenced. For a goot while we fought 
them square in front, but Col. Sheridan found that would not 
do; there were too many of dem; dey was gettin’ around us, 
flanking us on both sides and rear, so we fell back three or 
four hundred yards to better grounds. Den dey came again, 
but now we had de best ground, and was better armed; we 
fought dem dis way almost hand to hand, until day fell back 
to rest a little and reform dere lines. Den was de time. Col. 
Sheridan knew he must do something, for he could not stand 
to fight one to four much longer, so he sent Captain Alger 
with two saber companies out of our regiments and told him 
to take all the buglers from both regiments and go ’round and 
come in on Chalmer’s rear, and when dey say the rebels every 
bugler to sound de charge, yell all dey could, and go into dem 
with de saber. But de best ting he do was to send word to de 
engineer of the train by de station a half mile away to whistle 
as long and loud as he could. Dat was to make dem tink he 
was getting more men by de railroad. 

“When Col. Sheridan tink dat Capt. Alger have time to 
get around and make his rear attack, he make a furious attack 
in front and den, my friend, if dere was not cutting and slash- 
ing, yelling and tooting, for about a half hour, I am a liar. 
Then they commenced breaking, and in a few minutes there 
was some of the best horse racing you ever saw. We licked ’em 
clear and clean and run dem over four miles. If it hadn’t been 
for the way our colonel fooled ’em, sending Capt. Alger around 
wid de buglers and dey believing we were gettin’ reinforce- 
ments by de whistle blowing so loud, we would eder be killed 
or be captured, every one of us. I tell you, sar, dat was de 
best managed fight of dis whole war. You believes me, sar, 
he can fight and plan and see everything that’s goin’ on about 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 161 


him in de battle. And he was goot to us; we like him. But 
avry man mus’ fight when we follow him—avry man mus’ 
do hees dooty is all he wants.” 

Knocking the ashes and fire from his stubby pipe he looked 
at his watch again and said: “I must go now.” Mounting 
his ‘horse, a touch of his spurs sent the cavalryman into dark- 
ness again. 

The night after the panic described a few pages back there 
was almost incessant firing among the pickets. At daylight 
the whole army was aroused by dull, heavy explosions, some 
of which shook the earth. They seemed to come from Cor- 
inth, and every eye was strained in that direction. Following 
the loud reports dense columns of smoke arose and spread 
like a pall in the locality of the besieged place. “They have 
evacuated!” came from the lips of everyone. In a half hour 
from the time the explosions were heard our skirmishers were 
within their fortifications, and by nine o’clock the whole 
army was on the move following the enemy. General Halleck 
had almost completed the last coil that was to have crushed 
our prey, but meantime it had eluded our vigilance and made 
its escape. Of course, we felt that it was a victory for us 
to have driven them from their chosen ground and strong 
fortifications, but that it was an empty one none could deny. 
Our commander had been outwitted and beaten in generalship. 
Each point we had made had been one in a general plan to 
catch them, but Beauregard had succeeded in bandaging our 
eyes by feints, rushes and skirmishes, and had thus gained 
time to remove his troops, puns and nearly all of his stores to 
a position of safety. What he could not move was destroyed, 
with the exception of a few barrels of pork, some flour, sugar 
and molasses, found in an isolated commissary building which 
was strewn with charred bacon and broken guns. 


162 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


The explosions we had heard in the morning had been 
occasioned by some shells left in a burning building. We suc- 
ceeded in capturing a few of their rear guard, and in the 
woods several hundred were picked up, who, in the confusion 
of a hurried retreat, had not been relieved from duty on out- 
posts. The highest estimate of the number so captured was 
four thousand. The direction taken by the enemy was not 
definitely known, but from information picked up it was 
thought the main body, under Bragg, had gone down the 
Mobile railroad. Our army was ordered to push as far as 
Boonesville, the place when Gen. Sheridan had given Gen. 
Chalmers such a thrashing a few weeks before. This was 
- about thirty miles from Corinth. 

At nine o’clock on the morning of the evacuation we were 
ordered to strike tents and pack immediately. Soon we were 
on the march to the left of the works in a southerly direction. 
We found the camps all depopulated, except the sick and 
wounded left in the surgeons’ quarters. We passed through a 
small hamlet called Farmingham, containing nothing but log 
houses, all of which were deserted. Here the different roads 
converged, causing a complete blockade of wagons and artil- 
lery, and rendering further progress impossible. Our division 
entered a large field and prepared to bivouac for the night. 
On reaching an eminence in the field we stacked arms and 
then the most lively and attractive war picture presented itself. 
Over the broad plain extending as far as the eye could reach, 
regiments, brigades and divisions were moving. The setting 
sun reflected the glitter of thousands of bright guns, whose 
polished steel flashed and sparkled in unbroken lines miles and 
miles away. Nearer us, to the right, left and front, troops 
were pouring into the open space. The armies of the Ohio 
and Tennessee were in full view, over a hundred thousand 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 163 


strong. Officers were galloping over the field on splendid 
horses, giving directions to the moving masses, while regi- 
ments of cavalry and batteries of artillery swept across the 
plain, the embodiment of beauty, power and destruction. Then 
darkness came on, and, as if by magic, thousands of campfires 
sprang into existence, the scene having the mystic appearance 
of so many reflections from Aladdin’s lamps. Hundreds 
besides myself forgot their hunger and fatigue in viewing the 
enchanting panorama. , 

When we had feasted on our hard bread, pork and coffee, 
we laid down with happy confidence to enjoy a good, undis- 
turbed night’s sleep. We believed there was no foe near—that 
they were fleeing; besides, the wagon trains and artillery 
seemed to have been blockaded. We thought it would take all 
night to disentangle the trains, but, like every presumption in 
war, this over-confidence was an error. The unexpected 
nearly always happens. Within an hour after we had lain 
down an order came to march. The wagons ahead of us that 
belonged to another division moved slowly during the night, 
but this was not the worst—they stopped us on an average of 
every half mile or so, during which brief halt the sleepy men 
would drop down in the deep dust and go to sleep. Then the 
bugle would sound the “forward,” which would get us to our 
feet again, half asleep, to move slowly until the next ‘halt, 
when down we would go again into the soft dust, very soon 
to be up and pressing forward as before. This was kept up 
until about two o’clock in the morning, when the last halt was 
made in a bed of dust fully six inches deep, in which we slept 
until daylight. 

What a leveler that night’s march was! In the morning 
my men’s features all looked alike. My servant, who was as 
black as coal when we started, was now as fair as the new 


164 GeneraL Put H. SHERIDAN 


recruit who had joined us but a week before, and whose com- 
plexion had reminded me of a girl’s. All were now the same 
shade, previous differences of hue having been obliterated by 
the night’s application of dust and perspiration. The hair and 
clothing were as completely covered as were the faces, and it 
was impossible to recognize one’s dearest friend except for 
his voice. Fortunately, there was a stream of water not far 
away, and we gladly embraced the opportunity to remove the 
soil. 

By six o’clock the march was resumed, to be interrupted 
every few miles by a wagon blockade. In the afternoon we 
approached so near the rear guard of the enemy that the trains 
were sent back; so close were we that we often formed in line 
of battle, then quickly into column again. The next day was 
about the same—marching, then getting ready to fight. On 
the third day we halted. It was rumored that the wagons 
containing the picks and shovels were coming and that we 
would entrench this camp. 

We found General Pope’s men on the ground before us, 
they having arrived several hours earlier by another road. In 
the absence of tents they had erected beautiful booths and 
bowers which were a complete shelter from the heat of the 
sun and would be some protection in the case of the rain which 
was then threatening. Pope’s division belonged to the army 
of the Tennessee. Determined not to be outdone by their 
comrades the men of the roth Indiana, 14th and 31st Ohio, 
and 12th Kentucky, fell to work trying to eclipse the previous 
efforts in the way of building artistic shelters. When the rural 
villages were finished they were gems of beauty; nearly all 
were willow cottages with evergreen arbors for verandas; the 
doors were arched and windows latticed. Queen Anne style 
of architecture seemed to prevail. A stroll through the lanes 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 165 


was like tripping among fairy bowers except that the presence 
of so many guns, cannon and swords made the illusion im- 
perfect. We enjoyed these Arcadian scenes but a single day, 
when we were ordered to march, and moved to another poor 
little Mississippi village, Rienzi, on the Mobile & Ohio rail- 
road. This was the place occupied by Gen. Sheridan soon 
after the Boonesville fight, and when he was presented with 
the historic war horse, Rienzi, by Col. Campbell of the 2nd 
Michigan Cavalry. This is the horse that was afterward 
named Winchester, in honor of the Cedar Creek ride immor- 
talized in verse by Buchanan Reid. 

After remaining in Rienzi two days there came another 
rumor that Gen. Thomas had been appointed military gov- 
ernor of Mississippi. If true, this would insure our remain- 
ing with him in that uninteresting country, and we were much 
disgusted, for it had been hoped that after the evacuation of 
Corinth we would be transferred to Western Virginia. We 
had looked forward to such a move with pleasure, for that 
country abounded with pure water and had a pleasant sum- 
mer climate. 

On the third day we were ordered back to Corinth, this 
strengthening the rumor that we were to remain in Mississippi. 
A two days’ march brought us back to that desolate but his- 
toric place, and we went into camp a few hundred yards from 
the town limit. In times of peace the place might have con- 
tained a thousand people. On the day following our arrival 
fatigue parties were sent out to dig wells, clean quarters, and 
make other sanitary improvements, all of which suggested 
a permanent camp. Having a strong curiosity to see the 
place that ‘had cost so much human life and anxiety, I took a 
walk through the main part of the town. Coming upon an 
unoccupied railroad house my attention was attracted by a 


166 GrenerAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


room full of large knives, or short, clumsy swords, with 
roughly made leather sheathes. Sitting nearby I found a 
wounded Confederate soldier, so I addressed the unhappy- 
looking fellow, saying: “Tell me about those knives; what 
are they for and to whom do they belong?” 

“They were brought here by the Mississippians, I think, 
on the advice of some fool officer; a whole brigade was armed 
with them. They were soon found to be heavy and of no 
earthly good, so they were discarded. Anyone can see they 
would be of no account against a man who had a bayonet on 
the end of his gun. You see some of our people down here 
thought all they would have to do would be to run after the 
Yankees, and when they overtook them to cut them to pieces 
with those big knives; that is what the politicians told “em 
when they asked ’em to enlist. Some of the people thought 
the killing would be all on one side. When we got back from 
that Shiloh fight they learned something and threw these 
things away.” 

I picked out one and brought it home. It is still in my pos- 
session. 

Replying to my query why he did not go with his regiment 
he replied: 

“T tried it. I walked from the hospital part way down to 
where they were loading the sick and wounded, but my legs 
gave out. I found I was going to faint, so I stopped at that 
old house there. When I felt strong enough to walk that night 
they were all gone.” 

Telling him to have no hesitancy about asking for medical 
aid or rations from our people, I wrote a line to Doctor Arter, 
our surgeon, and pointed out his tent, directing the soldier to 
present that paper and that he would be well treated. He 
seemed very grateful. He had been wounded over a month 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 167 


before at the battle of Shiloh. His greasy, grey uniform, un- 
kempt long hair and soiled, sad face, with downcast, discour- 
aged look, made him a pitiful object. The next day I had 
the pleasure of seeing him with a clean, new shirt, and bright- 
er face. He told me the doctor had given his leg good treat- 
ment, and that he felt like a new man. “I won't have to go 
browsing about now for something to eat any more.” 

We had barely completed the labor of cleaning camp when 
an order came to be ready to march at twelve o’clock, noon. 
This was in June, and the weather intensely hot. We heard 
that we were going to Alabama, where the enemy was said to 
be concentrating. An hour or two before starting I went over 
to see my old company and pay a social call. While there 
who should make his appearance but Barney McNamee, the 
Irish tailor of our village. He belonged to the 43rd:Ohio, now 
stationed about seven miles below us. He had heard of our 
locality and secured a leave of absence for twenty-four hours 
so as to find us. When within about four miles of our camp 
he heard the rumor that our division had been ordered away. 
The remainder of the distance he covered in a “trot,” arriving 
red-faced, hot and tired. 

He had not seen anyone from home since his enlistment, 
and was, of course, happy to be among so many friends again. 
As soon as the hand-shaking and warm expressions of joy 
were at an end he proposed to take the whole company over 
to the sutler’s and treat them to a parting drink, as he knew 
the hour of marching was near. He informed us that the 
43rd had just been paid, therefore he had plenty of money. 
All declined to drink except five or six insatiate, ever thirsty 
boys, who were too glad to go with “Mac” on a mission of 
that nature, so they hurried to the sutler’s—but just too late. 
Everything eatable and drinkable was already packed in the 


168 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN. 


wagons. While the thirsty, disconsolate squad was standing 
there lamenting their misfortunes the proprietor was noticed 
emptying something from a barrel, which they discovered to 
be sour ale. Arresting the waste of the fluid, Mac asked the 
sutler what he would take for it. The man explained that the 
stuff was worthless and unfit to drink, but if they desired it 
they could have it. What followed made it evident that the 
Irish tailor had not reformed from a habit he had when at 
home, which, on more than one occasion, had landed him in 
durance vile. Our little town jail knew him well. One of 
the men told me later that the six had disposed of about two 
gallons when they became hilarious; the visitor, however, con- 
tinued to drink after the others had ceased, remarking as he 
drained the last that “it must do duty in place of something 
better. A poor substitute or a drafted man was better than no 
soldier.” Mac became uproariously drunk and soon sank to help- 
lessness and sleep. What to do with him in this condition none 
of them knew, and it troubled his more sober comrades. In 
the midst of their deliberations the bugle sounded “assembly,” 
which meant to march. What could they do with their gener- 
ous visitor? Ina few minutes the.camp for miles about there 
would be deserted. They could not put him in one of our 
wagons, for that would carry him miles from his own regi- 
ment and might unintentionally create a case of desertion. 
What could they do but carry him to one of the shadiest 
bowers, cover him with a piece of tent which would be some 
protection from the millions of flies that swarmed everywhere 
and the billions of mosquitoes that would promptly come on 
duty at night to relieve their daylight cousins! So they were 
compelled to leave Mac in that desolate camp at the mercy 
of the winged pests. We all doubted that he would ever get 
back to his regiment, but he did the next day, and not long 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 169 


afterward participated in the fierce battles of Iuka and Cor- 
inth, returning to our village after the war minus part of one 
hand, which he lost at one of these fights. 

These incidents returned to my mind a few months ago 
when I heard that he had died at the military home in Dayton, 
Ohio, and with the recollection came the consolation that the 
old veteran fought his last fight surrounded by the comforts 
of this life and within reach of the ministrations of kindly 
hands. 

On the evening of our first day’s march we arrived at Iuka, 
Mississippi, which was a fine camping place, for near where 
we pitched our tents we discovered the medical springs for 
which this place is famous. It had been a favorite watering 
place for many years. How we appreciated this pure, whole- 
some cold water, and compared it to the warm swamp-oozings 
we had been forced to drink for several months. Very pretty 
white cottages for the accommodation of invalids surrounded 
the fine spring, and these, with the large hotels, made up 
Iuka’s principal claim to be called a town. The few remain- 
ing citizens had an air of refinement that we had not found 
in and about the marshes of Corinth. 

Another day’s march under a burning sun took us over 
the Mississippi line into Alabama. We almost immediately 
noticed a difference in the character of the country: as well as 
its inhabitants. Instead of the blank, barren and marshy for- 
ests through which we had been camping and marching, we 
found most fertile and well cultivated plains spreading out 
before us. The plantations were extensive, frequently ex- 
tending for miles, and the residences were elegant structures 
surrounded by neatly whitewashed slave quarters that formed 
a pleasing contrast. The vast fields, stretching as far as the 
eye could reach had, until this year, been strangers to corn, 


170 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


this being one of the finest cotton producing sections in the 
South. But Jeff Davis had issued a proclamation that corn 
should be planted instead of cotton, and the Confederate con- 
gress had passed an act to that effect; also, in addition to that, 
the inhabitants’ own fears of starvation had dictated the policy 
of such a movement. For days we marched by waving fields 
of corn. It seemed that the whole energy of the South had 
been devoted to this crop; the entire country was a flourish- 
ing corn field. But, alas for the mutability of human affairs, 
particularly during war; for this immense crop of corn, in- 
stead of feeding the subjects of the Confederacy satisfied the 
rapacious appetites of Northern men and mules. 

After about four days of marching through uninterrupted 
corn fields we came to Tuscumbia, a city containing about five 
thousand inhabitants. It was a beautiful place. The streets 
were shaded with mulberries and magnolias. The town lay 
in a valley completely surrounded by high hills. On the side 
of one of these hills the batteries of our division took up their 
position, commanding the city and country beyond. At this 
place were two springs of marvelous power, from which 
gushed forth the purest and coldest water at the rate of a. 
hundred barrels a minute. The water was so cold that an 
order was issued forbidding soldiers to bathe in it between the 
hours of seven A. M. and seven P. M. 

_ At Tuscumbia we spent the glorious Fourth of July. In 
the morning the men were permitted to visit the surrounding 
hills in search of blackberries, which were very fine and abun- 
dant in that vicinity. At twelve o’clock a national flag was 
raised on a tall pole in front of our colonel’s quarters, and he 
made a neat little speech. A national salute was fired by the 
batteries on the hill. In the evening the entire division was 
massed on two of the principal streets at their intersection. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 171 


Then we had a regular, old-fashioned Fourth of July cele- 
bration. The flags of the many regiments were formed in a 
circle around a stand from which Gen. Frey of the 4th Ken- 
tucky read the Declaration of Independence, making patriotic 
and appropriate remarks. He was followed by Colonels Sted- 
man, Harlan, Connell, and Gen. Bob McCook in neat speeches, 
this being the last ever made by the gallant McCook, for he 
was killed a few days later, before he left that state. Hun- 
dreds of citizens were out witnessing the celebration; many 
of them apparently enjoyed it, while others looked sullen and 
morose. 

The next day an amusing incident occurred. A Confederate 
lieutenant-colonel, on parole, was putting on airs promenading 
the streets dressed in full Confederate uniform, a servant fol- 
lowing him carrying a basket in which he deposited the nu- 
merous bouquets which the rebel fair ones threw him from 
windows as he passed. Several of our soldiers were working 
out a punishment by cleaning the streets and, of course, were 
not in good humor. They concluded to stop that kind of 
swagger. They pitched into the darkey, upset and trampled 
the flowers, and concluded the performance by wallowing the 
handsome colonel in the dust for interfering with their inno- 
cent amusement. For this breach of military discipline they 
were reported to their colonel by the corporal in charge, and 
were ordered to the guard house for twenty-four ‘hours, then 
their trial came. Their strongest defense was that they left 
home to fight rebels, not to see them put on vain, pompous 
airs; that if such honors as this Confederate was receiving 
were permitted within our lines it would have a demoralizing 
and discouraging effect on loyalty, etc. It was a strong de- 
fense, made by an intelligent, fluent talker, quite a young man 
who could, had he lived, have made his mark as a lawyer, 


172 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


and probably the colonel felt as did Agrippa after Paul’s de- 
fense: ‘Almost thou persuadest me.’ But a breach of dis- 
cipline could not be justified, ably as it was defended, so the 
poor fellows received additional punishment. 

On the night of July 6th at a small place called Russell- 
ville, south of us about twenty miles, two companies of the 
Ist Ohio cavalry, belonging to our division, were surpised by 
a superior force and badly cut to pieces, Captain Emery being 
killed and the remainder driven away. We being nearest to 
the unfortunate affair, our regiment, the 17th, and 14th Ohio, 
were ordered to start that night at one o'clock, avoiding the 
main road, and to kill, capture or drive out the guerrillas. Re- 
veille aroused us at twelve o’clock and by one we were on our 
way south. A full moon gave us an opportunity of seeing the 
country, which for eight or ten miles was fertile and beautiful. 
Our route took us over the last spur, or hill, of the Appala- 
chian range of mountains, whose summit we reached as the 
sun was making his brilliant appearance. After gaining the 
summit we were allowed to rest a few moments. Something 
in the mist receding from the summit as the first rays of the 
sun pierced it aslant made a most brilliant sight. When the 
mountain tops north of us and higher up caught the first flash 
of those variegated beams they changed the grayish purple to 
bright gold, throwing its indescribable tints to the valleys. 

With the inspiration vivid in my memory of the grandeur 
of mountain scenery in California and the thrilling pictures 
I saw from many points of the Sierra Nevada range, also 
many not less entrancing on the coast range which were wilder 
and grander but not so beautiful in color and landscape, still 
none were more in accordance with my dreams of Paradise 
than the glorious panorama that encircled us at this moment. 
The best evidence that it was surpassingly lovely was the fact 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F’RIEND 173 


that stolid, unsentimental Joe Myers, who happened to be 
standing near me, said as he watched the varying tints for 
miles about him, “See, Captain, see! Look at it! How purty 
it is!’ A dim idea of the beauty of the scene had crept into 
even his matter-of-fact soul. 

After leaving this elevation we came to a pine barren, des- 
titute of water and any apparent signs of civilization. About 
noon we halted upon a ridge and there found a fine spring 
Glad to rest, as we had now marched sixteen miles, some of 
the boys after eating their rations and drinking their coffee 
were not too tired to descend the steep, rocky declivity in 
search of blackberries. One of these ramblers, George Staley, 
had not been gone more than fifteen minutes when he came 
back in breathless haste to tell his comrades that he had dis- 
covered at the foot of the hill a portable saw mill made by 
Duval & Co., of Zanesville, Ohio, a town not far from their 
homes, where they had often gone to sell horses, wheat and 
other farm products. I had dropped into a sweet sleep and 
was aroused by an excited conversation between Staley, the 
discoverer, and Sam Hazelton, who was telling him that he 
couldn’t be fooled into going down that long, steep hill on 
such a hot day by a lie of that kind. “Go away, I want to 
sleep,” said Sam. 

“T ain’t lying! I read the name of the man and where it 
was made.” | 

Now, Staley was a person who always economized with 
the truth, but what he lacked in veracity he more than made 
up in volubility, having a tongue the nearest approach to per- 
petual motion of anything on earth. Perry Case, a man who 
marched with him, said it was a physical impossibility for him 
to stop talking, and it was just as impossible for him to tell the 
truth. Had our regiment been a circus or menagerie, or had 


174 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


it been a battalion of specialists or proprietors of some patent 
medicine, Staley should, by all means, have been its advance 
agent; but, as such was not the case, it needed no liar, so he 
was only, by common consent, its champion romancer, richly 
deserving a premium for that qualification. And here let me 
say that, if he is still living I beg his pardon, but the truth 
must be told. 

Some others joined the discussion as to the truth of the 
discovery. By this time I was fully awake and inquired into 
the loud talking. Staley explained: “I went down the hill 
to hunt for blackberries; when I got there I saw an old port- 
able saw mill. I used to run one before the war, so I went 
over close to it and found it was made in Zanesville, Ohio, 
where ours was. You bet, Captain, I was surprised and 
tickled to meet that old thing away down here that was made 
so near where we lived. When I came up and told the boys 
about it they said it was all a lie to fool them down the hill.” 

By this time several of the doubters had approached us, 
and I asked one of them, in order to settle the question, to go 
down with Staley and investigate, and if we found the report 
untrue Staley would be punished by making him carry the 
messenger’s gun that afternoon. Both Staley and the messen- 
ger were delighted with the proposition and eagerly started 
down, with the understanding that the messenger was to re- 
turn and report as to the truth or untruth of Staley’s story. 
Everyone in the company was by this time on the qui vive, 
and when the report was brought up that he had told the truth 
they forgot their fatigue and rushed down that steep hill with 
childish glee. The first look was for the name of the maker 
and factory. When satisfied on this point they affectionately 
laid their hands on the old black mass of rusty iron and talked 
to it. I heard Bob Masters, who had been a portable saw mill 


SHERIDAN STATUE BY MULLIGAN, 
Designed for the Sheridan Monument Assn. of Chicago 


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PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 175 


man at home, say, as-he rested his hand fondly on the boiler, 
“How have they treated you since you have been down in this 
d d Confederacy ?” 


It was apparent from the remarks that the floodgates of 
-memory had been loosed, bringing tender recollections of 
home and childhood joys. It was a sudden awakening of 
one of the dearest sentiments to which the heart of man is 
susceptible. Their expressions of sympathy and affection, as 
they crawled under and through the old rusty engine and 
fondled it, were as amusing and pathetic as they were sincere, 
for they came direct from the heart. Was it strange that a 
mass of old iron should vibrate a tender chord in the hearts of 
those thoughtless boys and bring them back to their hills and 
homes so unexpectedly? And yet they were patriotic and self- 
sacrificing enough to be willing when their country required 
it to never see those homes again. The ovation for the old 
saw mill was not a lengthy one, for the thirty minutes’ rest 
soon expired, but it was one of which a hero might be proud. 

That afternoon nearly all were thinking of home, for one 
or another in the ranks was unconsciously humming or whist- 
ling “Home Sweet Home” or “Do They Miss Me at Home?” 
No one felt prouder, however, than did Staley. Had he not 
vindicated himself as a truthful man? Besides, he had fur- 
nished the company with a rare treat. After we started he 
left his place and came to me, saying, “Captain, it all turned 
out true about that portable saw mill; that will prove to you 
that I ain’t always lying, as Sam Hazelton said the other day 
I was. And Ike Jones told me the other day that I was the 
biggest liar in Company A. If he ever says that again I’ll give 
him a black eye.” This was said with an air of righteous in- 
dignation and innocence. I told Staley I wanted no fighting in 
the company and that Ike should not call him that again; that 


176 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


I was certain there was at least one—possibly two—whose 
claims to that distinction were as good as his. He looked at 
me as if he doubted the fact of what I said being intended as 
a compliment, but he said nothing in reply. 

Our objective point was the town of Moulton, supposed to 
be the rendezvous of the guerillas, who had attacked the boys 
from the First Ohio Cavalry. It was just six miles away, a 
slave told us. He also volunteered the information that 
“Moulton is de wussest place fur guerillas in Alabama!” 

When we had covered about one-half the distance of the 
march the 17th Ohio left us in the woods to make a detour 
and approach the town from the opposite side. Allowing a 
reasonable time for them to make the half circle we deployed 
one company, then advanced. No enemy was there. We as- 
certained after entering the town that they had left about ten 
o'clock that morning. We remained at Moulton over night 
and started back to Tuscumbia on another and better road than 
that on which we came. 

This day my company was the advance guard, keeping a 
distance of a mile ahead of the regiment. It was an intensely 
hot day. We had marched about five miles when we passed 
but a few steps from a cozy residence just off the road and 
almost hidden in trees and shrubbery. The general apearance 
of the place reminded me of a northern home; a pretty, white- 
washed well-box was in front of the house near the gate and 
main entrance inviting to a thirsty traveler. I put the com- 
mand of my company into the hands of the lieutenant and 
entered the gate. Saluting a young lady who appeared on the 
- veranda, I asked for a drink of water. She called a servant to 
bring a cup. As the slave was slow, or possibly intent on seeing 
the passing soldiers, I had time before the cup came to discov- 
er that the lady was not averse to talking. After the cool drink 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 177 


and a short conversation she asked if I would not like a piece 
of the melon which was in the well-box cooling. She probably 
had noticed how wistfully I looked at it. In fact, I had been | 
about to propose its purchase when she invited me to help 
myself to all I wanted. She was so generous, kind and friendly 
that I was inclined to think her in sympathy with us. Did it 
not look so? Had she not done even more than the woman of 
Samaria when asked for a drink? As discreetly as possible I 
intimated my impressions, but was quickly and frankly unde- 
ceived. 

She almost indignantly said: “No, sir! I am not in sym- 
pathy with your cause; far from it.” Then, in a sadder tone: 
“How could I be? This war is the cause of my husband’s 
absence; he is in the Confederate army. You have invaded 
our country and killed our people. How could I be?” 

Looking me in the face, her dark, dreamy eyes taking on 
a flash of fire, she continued: “My hope and prayer is that 
for all these sins not one of you may live to see your Northern 
homes again.” . 

“But,” I replied, “you were so kind to me a moment ago 
that it induced me to think you loyal.” 

“Yes, you looked tired and thirsty. If I can do your peo- 
ple an act of kindness or even minister to your sick, I would do 
so; I could not do otherwise. I could not resist those dictates 
of humanity; and yet—it may sound strange to you—I hope 
and pray for your destruction. Our people will yet drive you 
back; these successes you seem to be enjoying are but 
temporary. We have, my husband told me, been falling back 
to have you follow, the more completely to destroy you with 
disease and battle. It is true, you outnumber us, but we are 
braver than you, and inspired to fight for our independence.” 

Her speech was concluded, and I told her we were only 


178 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


fighting to save this great and good country—the best on 
God’s earth. ‘You must remember, you brought on this war 
by firing on the Stars and Stripes before there was a war. Your 
politicians and newspapers derided us as cowards and selfish 
money makers, too cowardly to cross the Ohio or Potomac to 
restore the government. As to your soldiers being braver 
than ours, let me say this: You saw that company pass when 
I stopped for the drink? There were eighty men there; they 
will average in discipline and bravery; they are a fair sample 
of the Union army. I am their captain, and will hardly aver- 
age in bravery. But we have never yet seen the day when we 
could not attack a hundred of your men and not fear the re- 
sult. There is no difference in our bravery; you are as brave 
as we. But I hope you will give us credit for making the war 
to restore the Union and save the country.” 

Then, looking down the road, I saw the head of the col- 
umn appearing, and knowing our colonel would not approve 
of my being so far from my company I offered my hand to 
the fair, disloyal lady. I thanked her for her kindness to me, 
saying I hoped for her husband’s safe return and the restora- 
tion of the Union to us all. The faintest smile as she extended 
her hand was all the reply she made, then I left the gate on the 
run. 

It was one of those cases we sometimes meet during war, 
when instinctive sympathy for the suffering or needy over- 
steps the bitterness and hatred of it all. It was the pity that 
is born of woman. 

On our return to Tuscumbia that night we were a tired 
and disappointed set. The next day a miniature cyclone or 
homeopathic tornado passed over our camp. The sun was 
furious, sending down its hottest rays, not a breeze ruffled 
the leaves on the few trees in our camp. I heard someone 


ay | 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 179 


call out, “Look over there!’ Looking as he pointed I saw a 
whirlwind, funnel-shaped and spiral in its formation, com- 
posed of leaves, dust, grass, paper and shingles, apparently ap- 
proaching our camp. As it came nearer, we could hear an 
indistinct roar from the swaying column. From the direction 
it was traveling it seemed to be seeking our regiment. Then 
a hundred voices called out, ‘““Here she comes!’ And it was 
upon us! It passed up a company street and, deflecting a little 
struck Capt. Putnam’s tent, in which he sat writing. We could 
not see that it was struck until we beheld it transformed into 
a balloon, lifted up about twenty feet and carried away amidst 
the laughter and yells of the whole camp. The movement was 
so sudden that the tent had been carried some distance before 
the absorbed writer ralized the situation. The boys ran after 
and secured the fugitive tent, which had lodged against a tree 
a half mile east of us. 

On the following day we struck tents, continuing our 
march east through a rich and beautiful country. Our route 
was mainly in the direction of Huntsville, where we arrived 
after a two days’ march. Before the war this had been the 
gem of Southern cities. It is situated at the base of the east 
spur of the Cumberland mountains. The streets are shaded 
and graded to perfection, and the private residences surpassed 
in beauty and elegance those of any other city of equal size 
we had seen in the South. North and west of it the most 
charming, fertile valleys greeted the eye, while to the south- 
east the Cumberlands loomed up in regal magnificence. On 
the apex of the nearest mountain several wealthy citizens 
erected their summer homes. We were told it was a delight- 
ful resort during the heated months. We encamped near the 
center of the city, on a large, open lot, probably intended for 
a future park, but at that time devoid of artistic embellish- 


180 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


ments. Only a short distance from us was the wonderful 
spring which has given the city so much fame. It issues from 
the base of a lime rock sixty feet high. 

Next day we started eastward again, still traversing a fine, 
rich country. It was on this day’s march that I first heard of 
the 19th Illinois. I was again reminded of it last Memorial 
Day as I stood on the Lake Front and saw one familiar flag 
among the many that passed me. It was beautifully lettered 
on its silken stripes: “19th Illinois Inft.” It was followed by 
a few veterans who looked well and soldierly, considering 
their long battle with time and trouble. With the flitting 
view of that fine flag and its gray followers there came ‘vividly 
back thoughts and memories that had slumbered for over forty 
years. One incident, especially, caused me to smile, for I re- 
called the earnest, frightened face of the woman who intro- 
duced me to that regiment. 

My company had been detached from the, main coluen 
on that occasion and I stopped at a large residence by the road- 
side to obtain some information. When about to leave the 
lady asked me to whom I belonged. I told her. “Do you 
think that dreadful 19th Illinois will ever return to this pert 
of the country again?” 

“Well,” I replied, “it is impossible in time of war to tell 
where troops may be sent; but why do you call them “dread- 
fuk 

“Oh, sir; those men are a terror, and their old command- 
er, who is a Russian, I believe, is even worse. Those men 
were vandals of the purest type. What they could not carry 
away, or could not eat, or did not want, they destroyed. They 
have stripped this valley of all its watches, jewelry and silver 
plate.” 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 181 


“Why did you not bury your valuables?’ This I asked 
with hypocritical innocence—as if I did not know. 

“We did, sir; but it was utterly impossible to conceal any- 
thing from them. They invariably found all that was buried. 
I firmly believe those Yankees could smell a gold -watch or 
a piece of silver plate three feet under ground, and as to their 
destructiveness—when they took possession of that plantation 
over there as an outpost, they did thar cooking in the parlor 
and cut thar pork up on the piano. And as to the poultry and 
pigs, of which we had an abundance before they came, not 
one could be found ten days after their arrival. Oh, I hope 
and pray they’ll never come here again.” 

I had heard the substance of this tale of woe from an old 
man and woman a few days before, but not in such detail. 
The roth Illinois had preceded us about two weeks. I told 
the lady she should not be too hasty in denouncing the 19th 
Illinois, nor entertain such a dislike for them, for it might pos- 
sibly be their plan to bring the war to an early close in that 
way. I said: “Your soldiers will not stop long enough to 
determine this question in battle. We drove them from Ken- 
tucky to Tennessee, from there to Mississippi and now into 
Alabama. You see how they flee, so we must adopt some other 
method to restore the Union and bring the war to a close. No 
country can carry on a war if stripped of supplies. To my 
mind the roth Illinois looked at it in that light, and are a bless- 
ing to you in disguise.” 

At this view of the situation I could see that her patience 
was exhausted. After a thoughtful observation of her jeweled 
hands, she slowly raised her head, looked at me with great 
earnestness, said: “May God preserve us from such bless- 
ings as the 19th Illinois,” and she wouldn’t resume that subject 
again. It may be that to this day the people of that fair, rich 


182 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


region, who still survive the tempestuous times of the early 
sixties, remember the 19th Illinois, as the people of the Shen- 
andoah Valley think of Phil Sheridan, or old citizens of At- 
lanta remember General Sherman. 

That woman’s description of this lively regiment aroused 
my interest in it, but, as far as I am aware, I never saw it un- 
til I beheld that hoary remnant—the shadow, clad in blue, as 
they passed me on Memorial Day. And, really, they looked 
so innocent on that occasion that I have since doubted the 
Alabama woman’s story; indeed, I believe she slandered them. 

Leaving Alabama we continued our march northward into 
Tennessee. By the time we arrived in this State the enemy 
had destroyed many bridges and railroads on the lines that 
transported our supplies. This caused such a scarcity of pro- 
visions that only half rations were issued to the men and our 
regimental commissaries were ordered to forage for enough to 
supply the deficiency. The day we entered Tennessee we passed 
a fine peach orchard, the branches bending with fruit. A com- 
fortable looking residence with a number of children on the 
front steps seemed to be part of the farm property. 

We went into camp about four miles farther on, and next 
morning I received an order to take my company with four 
wagons and bring those peaches to camp, together with such 
other subsistence as I could secure. Arriving at the house I 
found it occupied by a woman with five or six children. I told 
her the object of our visit. She protested earnestly, saying 
that if we took her peaches we would take her all; they had 
no other fruit, no products of any kind; her intention was to 
sell or exchange them for other supplies; if I took them she 
would almost starve. I explained that I could not do other- 


wise; that it was one of the cruel necessities of war; that I was | 


sorry to rob her, but as starvation was also staring us in the 


= Sry care 7 —— 
abe i a Brat ae 
NE RS es na ee 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 183 


face I had to obey orders; nothing could come from the North 
now that the railroads were destroyed. I then proposed that 
if she would go with me or send her son, a lad of about twelve 
years who stood_near, to select four rows, I would spare those. 
Finding these were the best terms she could get, she directed 
the boy to select them. After we had left the house I asked 
his name and where his father was. “The Yankees is got 
him,” he replied. ‘‘How did they come to get him?” “They 
took him ina fight. We got a letter from him ’tother day but 
it was writ long ago; he was in Camp Chase, Ohio.” “How 
does he like it?” “First rate; they treat him well and give 
him all he wants to eat.” 

When we had almost finished loading our wagons and 
were ready to call in the men who were on out-post duty to 
prevent a surprise, a squad of the 1st Ohio Cavalry who were 
also out foraging, reported that they had been north of us a 
few miles and had been fired on by guerillas when they were 
about to secure some hogs; if I would take the company and 
wagons I could secure them. I consented to go, piloted by the 
five cavalrymen. On arriving at the spot, which was a dilapi- 
dated farm house in a rough, wooded country, I found two old 
women. I inquired about the hogs and was assured there had 
not been one there for over two weeks; the last one was killed 
by a soldier. I could see nothing that these poor old women 
could spare, and was now looking for the cavalrymen to 
show me the hogs. They could not be seen, so I ordered a 
search for them. After some delay they were found in a little 
still-house at the foot of the hill in the woods nearly a mile 
from where they had said we would find the hogs, they, and 
three or four of my men having a hilarious time with the whis- 
key they had discovered. When they were brought over I 
asked what grounds they had had for saying we would find 


184 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


hogs there. The answer was, “A nigger told us. He pointed 
to this house and started to come over to get them, then we 
were fired on by guerillas.’ The old woman told me there 
had been no guerillas there, neither had they heard any firing 
that day. It was evident to me the cavalrymen had lied, and 
it began to dawn upon me that their object had been to use 
us for a guard to insure security to them while they got the 
whiskey they had discovered, and we had been ensnared into 
answering their purpose. When I talked of taking them back 
under arrest they again solemnly repeated that a “nigger” had 
told them, and swore there had been firing not far away. 

On our return to camp by another road we stopped at a 
farm house where some of the boys found a few chickens and 
vegetables. Not far from here we came to an old double- 
hewed log house which we found to be the home of an aged, 
tottering ex-soldier and his comparatively young wife—his 
second, she told me. He had served in the war of 1812, and 
was also with Gen. Jackson in the Creek Indian war. Here I 
was fortunate enough to witness actual proof that suffering 
creates a feeling of instinctive brotherliness in the human 
breast. When my boys found he had been a soldier they treat- 
ed him with the greatest kindness and consideration. When 
they discovered the needy condition of the couple the sentiment 
turned to something substantial. Some gave coffee, others 
tobacco. George Evans, whom I had never suspected of being 
sentimental, gave the wife the chicken which he had appropri- 
ated at the other farm house; Sergeant Thomas appointed 
himself a committee to take up a collection, which. when count- 
ed, amounted to nearly two dollars. Two of the men who 
had been discovered with the cavalrymen at the little still- 
house, divided their whiskey with him, although, because of 
their intemperate cravings, it was as dear to them as life itself. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 185 


The dim eyes of the old man sparkled with joy when he saw 
and smelt the liquor that was being poured out for him from 
their canteens into the little bucket that stood on the rough 
old rickety table. His mind was comparatively bright on the 
events of his earlier years, but was almost a blank on the 
present. 

I remember how he viewed with admiration our excellent 
equipment, and spoke of the brightness of our guns. Then he 
inquired where were our powder horns. When we told him 
we did not need any, that the powder and balls were in the 
cartridges which they showed him, he shook his head and said 
he wouldn’t trust "em—a powder horn was better. ‘‘Air the 
Injuns as well armed as you’uns?” When we told him there 
was no fight with Indians, he inquired if it was the British, 
and when we again answered in the negative he was anxious 
to know who was on the other side. Then one of the boys 
said he would come back some time and tell him all about it, as 
we had no-time then. This satisfied him, and I was glad he 
did not comprehend that thousands of his people were attempt- 
ing the destruction of the country he had on two occasions 
defended. By this incident between my boys and this poor old 
soldier I learned how the chastising rod of misfortune devel- 
ops a sympathy with the suffering of others, and teaches us a 
lesson of mercy and charity that cannot be learned in other 
schools. 

This was our last stop but one, which was on the main 
road. Here we found two women. I soon brought up the 
subject of our visit and asked if they had anything a soldier 
could eat. One of them said, and, from all appearances she 
spoke the truth, “Naw, sah! Not a thing, sah! A few days 
ago your men that ride critters tuck all we had, and the next 
day the foot fellers came along and tuck the balance.” 


186 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


After the war I witnessed another instance of fraternal in- 
stinct, this one concerning old Casper Krom, who had fol- 
lowed the great Napoleon in nearly all his campaigns as a ser- 
geant in the Imperial Cuirassiers. Phil Sheridan and I often 
listened to his stories of Austerlitz, Leipsic, Waterloo, and the 
march to and from Moscow, told in his broken German-Eng- 
lish. A few years after our return from the war, on a cold 
Christmas day, he was found dead in his cabin by Maria — 
Stickle, who had gone there to take him a Christmas dinner. 
When I heard of his death I went over, expecting to find no 
one there, as he had no relatives; but to my surprise I had 
been preceded by four ex-soldiers who were busily engaged 
discharging the duties of fraternal brothers and undertaker, 
and funds were contributed from the same source to give him 
a respectable funeral. The old man left no money, having 
been an object of charity for several years. 


CHARTER CLT: 


THE HERMITAGE— WHERE IS THE REGIMENT, DOCTOR?’— 
THE CALL OF THE BUGLE A BENEDICTION AND AN INSPI- 
RATION. 


at Nashville an incident occurred that occasioned me 

the greatest apprehension. By some good luck, as I 
thought at the time, I had succeeded in obtaining from our 
general a pass to the city. Passes were difficult to secure. I 
remained in town until about supper time, when, being the 
only commissioned officer with my company at the time I was 
obliged to return to camp to see that all was well. I found 
everything satisfactory. 

While in the city I had noticed flaming posters announcing 
that a distinguished comedian, supported by a number of stars, 
would play that night. After returning to camp that poster 
and its attractive announcement was constantly in my mind. 
I had not attended a theater in over a year, and now a keen 
desire had awakened to witness another play.—I looked at my 
pass—the time limit was 12 P. M. Then I determined to at- 
tend the production. I notified the ranking sergeant of my 
proposed absence, and placed him in command of the company 
until my return. Then I hurried back to the city and to the 
theater. 

The play proved to be a poor affair—a complete disap- 
pointment. Something seemed saying to me, “You should be 


C) the night of the second or third day after our arrival 


with your company.” Leaving the playhouse at the end of the 
first act I hurried toward camp, arriving about ten o’clock. 
187 


188 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


It was a beautiful moonlight night. Glancing up the row 
of tents on each side of the regimental street I could see no 
one; all was silent as the grave; it had a very deserted appear- 
ance for that hour. Not a solitary light was visible except 
at the surgeon’s quarters. I hurried to the first tent, which 
was on the left of the battalion, and threw back the flaps, but 
found it empty. Into every tent did I look—all were deserted. 
An ominous silence pervaded the entire camp. Then I ap- 
proached the dim light discernible in the surgeon’s quarters 
and found the doctor about to retire. 

“Where is the regiment, Doctor?” 

“They have gone out on the Lebanon Pike, in the vicinity 
of the Hermitage, on the information of some scouts who 
brought in word that a regiment of rebel cavalry having gone 
into camp there, they believed we might ‘gobble’ them if we 
went in a hurry and exercised caution.” 

Now I was in trouble—especially when I recalled that I 
was the only commissioned officer in the company. My place 
must be filled by a commissioned officer from another com- 
pany. This appointment would have to be made by the colonel 
and would expose my absence. It was true I had a pass, but 
upon investigation it would be found that I had returned to 
camp, therefore it might be argued that I had forfeited the 
remaining hours. A critical or illiberal colonel might so con- 
strue it. I walked from the camp to the Pike, feeling greatly 
troubled, and debating in my mind what to do. 

I now decided to follow the regiment. I had taken but 
a few steps in that direction when I heard the hoof beats of a 
running horse far out in the direction I was going. Stopping 
and putting my ear to the ground I was convinced after lis- 
tening for a minute that the sound was approaching. The ani- 
mal was soon in sight, and passed me, turning to the right in 


Bs 
s 
Be 
a 
iii! 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 189 


our camp. I ran after it, believing it to be a messenger from 
our regiment with important word. I was almost by the side 
of the rider when he dismounted and tied his panting horse. 

“What's up? Who are you after?” 

“The surgeon and ambulance, as quickly as I can get 
them. We have had a little fight out here about five miles 
and some of our boys are wounded, one of them badly—he 
may bleed to death.” 

“What company did he belong to?” 

“T don’t know. Please assist me in looking up the sur- 
geon and ambulance driver.” 

The surgeon had overheard our conversation, and when I 
called for him he was already making preparations to start. 
The driver was soon found, his horse attached to the ambu- 
lance, and we started down the Pike at a rapid gait. This 
was the only time that a reckless driver did not drive fast 
enough to suit me, for I continued urging him to go faster. 
But the surgeon, who out-ranked me, ordered him to slacken 
his speed, fearing that a blunder on the part of the horse when 
descending the hills might lead to an accident, thereby delay- 
ing us. 

The reader must not think that I was spoiling for a fight— 
my valor was never hard to curb. It was purely because of 
duty that I ever faced danger, but this time I had a feeling of 
guilt and shame that I had not been there when I should have 
been with the boys of Company A, sharing their fortune or 
misfortune, their risk and danger, even to the death. | 

It seemed a long time before the driver said, “Now we 
are approaching the Hermitage, the home of General Jackson, 
where he lived, died, and is buried.” That we were so near 
the end of our destination were most welcome words to me, 
and under other circumstances I would have been much inter- 


190 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


ested in seeing the home of the man of strong will and in- 
domitable courage. | 

“There is the Hermitage,” said our guide, pointing to a 
fine looking residence to the right of the road, “and near here 
the skirmish commenced.” 

I had a disagreeable presentment that the injured soldier 
belonged to my company. We drove off the Pike. The 
church stood back some distance. On leaving the noisy flint 
road I could hear the scattering shots of skirmishers firing 
further out. They were still engaged. 

As soon as our horse slowed up I jumped out. The form 
of a man lay on the grass, and the light of the moon showed 
plainly the features of my company bugler, John Hemry, one 
of my best and most intelligent soldiers. It encouraged me 
to find that the wound was not necessarily mortal. When he 
recognized me he extended his hand as a sign of welcome. 

“Are you badly hurt, John?” I inquired. 

“I don’t know; there is a big hole through both thighs, 
but I can move them, the bones are not broken. They stopped 
the bleeding, and I think [ll get along.” 

My services were needed a few minutes with the surgeon, 
after which I hurried toward the firing a half mile away. The 
wounded man had told me that our company and F were de- 
ployed, the remainder of the battalion following. My com- 
pany being engaged increased the guilty fears that I had en- 
tertained at the beginning. Passing the battalion in line of 
battle, I soon came to the skirmishers. An officer informed me — 
who had command of my company. I asked him if he had 
heard any remarks from any of the field officers in regard to 
my absence. He had not. He told me the lieutenant-colonel 
was in command of the skirmishers and was dismounted. He 
showed me where he thought the officer could be found. An- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND IQI 


ticipating a frosty reception I approached; indeed, it might be 
a hot reception. As I came up I made my presence known by 
some remark. Looking at me he said: 

“Where in the devil have you been all day?” 

I explained as briefly and quickly as I could. 

“This may get you into trouble; the colonel is mad. You 
left your company without a commissioned officer. Are you 
sure you had a pass from the general?” 

Fortunately I still retained it. After fumbling in my pocket 
for some time I found it. He read it by the bright moonlight, 
after which he said: 

“T am glad you have it; it will save you trouble.” 

With my guilty conscience troubling me, and nervously 
fearing a refusal and possibly an order to be under arrest, I 
asked if he would allow me to take command of my company. 
He hesitated ; it seemed an age before he finally said “Yes.” I 
was delighted. Then, as a favor (he had always been friendly 
toward me) I asked him to show the pass to the colonel and 
explain the whole affair, which he agreed to do. Thanking 
him, I flew to my company and relieved the lieutenant in com- 
mand. 

How complete the change was from a weight of guilt and 
anxiety to the fulness of joy! With light heart I went up and 
down the line. We did not advance more than a hundred 
yards from where I joined them until we were ordered back. 
The firing in our front had entirely ceased; the enemy had 
disappeared. Returning, we found the battalion in column on 
the Pike waiting for us, and we started for camp. 

As we repassed the historic home of General Jackson I 
viewed it in the light of that high, full moon with far greater 
interest and with changed feelings. 

Hemry lay in the hospital for several months, and at one 


192 GENERAL Poi, H. SHERIDAN 


stage blood poisoning was feared, but, being young and of 
sound constitution and brave, generous heart, he triumphed 
over his dangerous wounds. When he came back to us he 
was thinner and paler, but he lived to serve his country until 
peace was restored. 

It was a remarkable coincidence that both my buglers 
-should be wounded in precisely the same spot—the ball pierc- 
ing the thighs of both, and both recovering. One accident 
occurred in front of the Hermitage and the other quite near a 
home equally historic in the Shenandoah Valley. Now, let 
me repeat in the language of another what part the bugler 
played in the war; how his music thrilled and saddened us as 
he sounded the charge, the retreat, the halt, the advance, and 
all the calls they most loved and most despised, for the bugler 
is the principal voice of an army: 


“Yes; I love the sound of a bugle today, but when I was 
in the army there was nothing I so much dreaded and hated. 
Not one of the calls now, though, but what is dear to me, 
bringing up many tender associations and recollections of 
those who long ago have answered the last call on earth, and 
who are waiting, under the sod and dew, for the summons of 
the Chief Trumpeter, whose blast is to awaken the world. 
There were but few of the calls that were welcome to the ear of 
the ever-tired soldier. One of them was the ‘recall from drill.’ 
Another the ‘dinner’ call; another retreat at sundown, 1f one 
was in camp and tired, but if one was out on a pass, expiring 
at sundown, this call was always answered with a sigh, or with 
under-breathed words that were not a benediction upon the 
trumpeter or his trumpet. There hardly seemed a minute in 
the day that the bugles were not sounding from somewhere for 
some purpose. The cavalry, artillery and infantry all had dif- 
ferent calls for the same service. This was done to avoid con- 
fusion, as often the cavalry were required to mount and away 
when neither the infantry nor artillery was required, and vice 
versa. The call that the soldiers despised to hear above all 
others was that of “break camp,’ or ‘tear down.’ Imagine 
yourself comfortably quartered in a pretty grove, with your 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 193 


tent nicely located, the scenery lovely, the water for drinking 
and bathing abundant and handy, the country surrounding the 
camp rich in forage, the weather lovely, the labors light and 
the boys exchanging courtesies on the picket line. Some fine 
morning, sounding from some far away headquarters, you catch 
the faint notes of a bugle. The call is an unusual one, never 
being sounded unless the troops have been in camp for some 
days. The soldier going to the ‘run’ to do his washing sets 
down his camp kettle and listens. He thinks he has detected 
a few notes that are unwelcomely familiar. Now another 
trumpeter has taken up the call; he is nearer than the first, and 
so the annoying message is wafted from one brigade to an- 
other, until presently you see your own regimental bugler step 
out in front of his tent and repeat it with great apparent relish. 
The soldiers take up the call and mockingly repeat it: 


“Tear, tear, tear; tear down, tear down, tear down; 
Tear, tear, tear, down, d-o-w-n. 


“The bugles seem to say the words and unless the men are 
positively worn out with camp life, something that didn’t hap- 
pen in my time, they always disliked to hear this call, which 
told of march, fatigue, scant rations and most always meant 
fight. Another call the boys objected to was the ‘fall in’ call 
on the march. On long marches, for the weary soldiers to lay 
down in the hot dust and sun and go to sleep was a matter of 
course. No soldier ever believed that the halt for breath, rest 
and fresh water was ever half long enough. While all the 
notes of the bugle were pleasant to hear in the abstract, it 
was irksome to think one always had to obey them. A soldier 
of our command, obtaining a furlough, loafed around camp all 
one day after he’d got his papers in his pocket, so he could 
have the satisfaction of saying, with emphatic independence, 
“Let the bugles blow and be d ae 

“The call to ‘advance the lines’ was a thrilling one. This 
always meant the stirring up of a hornet’s nest, and often 
brought on a general engagement. The ‘advancing of the 
lines’ simply meant pushing the skirmish line further toward 
the enemy and taking a new position. If the enemy fell back, 
all right. If they were defiant and held their ground, the bat- 
teries began to play, and often ran us into a pitched battle, 


194. GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


without just cause or provocation, the main body far in the 
rear, with only the slender line of skirmishers keeping up the 
racket. 

“The sweetest of calls was ‘taps,’ sounded fifteen minutes 
after the tattoo roll-call. It meant lights out, and under its 
musical mandate every light among the thousands of soldiers 
must be at once extinguished. It could be heard from a hun- 
dred hill-tops, given out first by a sweet-toned bugle from 
headquarters, and taken up and reéchoed throughout the vast 
army by a thousand buglers. Many times one could hear the 
sadly sweet sound half an hour after,the first one had blown, 
coming from far, far away, the tones beautifully mellowed by 
the distance, like an echo to all the echoes of the first sound. 

“After this no other bugle note was heard until the reveille 
next morning. In case of midnight alarms, the drums were 
called into service. Some brigades had more trumpeters than 
others—a fact that seemed to arise from the taste or inclina- 
tion of the commander. But the notes of the bugle were as 
familiar in the ears of the soldiers as household words, and to- 
day there are few men but delight to hear the glorious calls 
that incited to action or lulled to slumber. There is some- 
thing thrilling and soul-stirring in the sound of the trumpet 
that calls to action, as there is sad and pathetic in those that 
tell of repose. ‘Retreat’ is a strangely touching call; it is al- 
way accompanied by rnuning the colors down from the jack- 
staff, by the sullen boom of the evening gun, and the sinking 
of the sun. It is the last call of the day but two, and when it 
is sounded every soldier is expected to be in his quarters. I 
notice that it is the fashion of well regulated bands to play the 
bugle calls nowadays, 

“We will march away together at the breaking of the day, 
At the breaking of the day, 
At the breaking of the day, 

While the merry trumpets play, 

While the merry, merry trumpets play.” 

I love to hear the sound of the bugle today, but did not 
feel that way in war days. Who among us but loves those 
calls at this safe distance, bringing back as they do the inci- 
dents, excitement and thrill of battle! What emotions cluster 


around those notes! 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 195 


The following day I went into Nashville on business, and 
while there I secured some papers, in one of which I found 
the following account of Colonel Philip Sheridan of the 2nd 
Michigan and the battle of Booneville: 


“Bushwhacking has become an important feature in the 
rebel mode of warfare, and the daring raids of these men 
needed a counter irritant. Sheridan was made Colonel of the 
Second Michigan and soon after started toward Booneville on 
his first raid. His reckless daring at once manifested itself, and 
a second regiment was added to his command. He made a 
dash after the Guerrilla Forrest, and was so successful in it 
that he was formally made commander of a cavalry brigade 
and sent to Booneville, twenty miles in front of the army. 
Here the memorable battle of Booneville occurred. On the 
Ist of July, 1862, a rebel force numbering between four and 
five thousand attacked his force of two regiments. He re- 
treated slowly, but kept up a continuous fire. The day was 
going against him, but he determined to hazard a bold move 
to regain it. Selecting a body of reliable men, about a hun- 
dred in all, he sent them by a circuitous route to the rear of 
the rebels. In the meantime the main body fought desperately. 
Suddenly the enemy were startled by the crack of carbines in 
the rear, and in their bewilderment they thought a whole 
brigade had come to the rescue. Amid the confusion Sheridan 
made an impetuous charge, and the day was his, the enemy 
fleeing in great disorder. This gallant fight has made his 
name famous, and his bravery brought him a Brigadier Gen- 
eral’s commission, to date from the day of the hard-fought 
battle and victory.” 


In a few days after my return our whole division moved to 
Nashville, where we remained nearly a week, then crossed the 
Cumberland, northward. 

It was ascertained by this time that Bragg was going in 
the same direction, his objective point, it was thought, being 
Louisville, Kentucky. 

Now commenced one of the most interesting and longest 
races ever made by two great armies on parallel lines. Often 


196 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


our routes would bring us within a few miles of each other, 
so that our campfires could be seen, then the columns would 
diverge, only on the following day to be within hailing distance 
again. On the latter occasion we were ready for action on 
very short notice, but no battles occurred between Buell and 
Bragg in this famous race. These long, weary miles from the 
Gulf States to the Ohio river can never be forgotten, but we 
succeeded in arriving at our destination first, putting it in a 
state of defense with such a strong force as to discourage Bragg 
from attacking. 

Our division arrived on the banks of the Ohio eight or 
ten miles below Louisville on September 25. When we came 
in sight of the green fields, as they gently sloped toward the 
river on the Indiana side, and the beautiful, well-cultivated 
country beyond, they looked to us not unlike what our imagi- 
nations had pictured of “the Promised Land.” 

To make the scene more lovely, as well as more character- 
istic of the North, a pretty, white schoolhouse was situated 
on one of the emerald terraces, and the teacher was just dis- 
missing a group of children, a sight we had not witnessed in 
all our marching through the South. An occasional breeze 
would waft to us a chorus of happy laughter from the little 
ones as they ran down to the river bank, and very distinctly 
could we hear their childish shouts as we came nearer, and 
now we could see them waving their hats to us. As the head 
of the column reached the road, running parallel with the 
river, we halted. Our march had been down a dry valley. 
In every direction on our side the scenery was parched and 
dead. Probably the presence of war had caused it, but it 
might have been that the soil on the Indiana side was richer, 
for there it was clean and bright. As we halted I could hear 
it called “God’s country” over there. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 197 


“Sam, what would you give to be over in the Promised 
Land a few hours?” 

Now came the order, “Head of column to the right!” 
We had not gone far in that direction, only far enough to 
bring our regiment directly opposite the white schoolhouse, 
when we halted again. Soon followed the command: 

“By the right of companies to the rear into column. 
March!” 

This was a most welcome command; it meant a halt for 
the night. 

“Fix bayonets. Stack arms! Break ranks! March!” 
And, more than all, a bath in the beautiful Ohio! 

The arms were stacked, tents erected, and, by some, sup- 
per was commenced, but thousands first rushed to the river 
to be near it and touch its waters. There was a graceful 
sweep and curve in the stream at this point, which added to 
its beauty. We could hear sweet music in the ripple of its 
waves; an invitation to the tired, dusty soldiers to bathe in 
its clear, bright waters; besides, we thought it was our river, 
made from the springs and rivulets of our homes. It came 
from the hills and valleys we loved, and we thought we could 
hear those waters, in their gentle murmur say, “We have 
come from loyal homes to greet and comfort you.” 

The children from the schoolhouse had all crowded to the 
bank to gaze at us. Something, possibly the display of our 
colors, or it might have been the request of the teacher, caused 
them to give us acheer. It was taken up on our side by thou- 
sands, so long and loud that it might have been heard miles 
away. Inno army but an American could such emotion have 
been inspired as took expression in the response to the cheer 
of the children. I am sure there were tears in more eyes 
than Joe Miller’s among the men who had children at home 


198 | GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


as. they gazed over on that scene. Abe Stedman, standing 
near me, had been watching steadily for some time. As he 
turned, he noticed a tear in Miller’s eye. Miller was one of 
the oldest men in the company. Abe, in his thoughtless, boy- 
ish way, said: 

“Joe, I believe you are crying; the sight of that river 
makes you homesick.” 

Joe straightened himself up, and said, with some embar- 
rassment, as he brushed away the tear with his dusty sleeve: 

“Abe, you are about right. Those children over there 
put me in mind of my four little fellows; one of them died, 
you know, when we were in front of Corinth, but it is nothing 
to cry about. He’s better off than we are—no wars there, 
or long, tiresome marches. It may appear a little strange to 
you and look womanish to see me so near crying, but that 
little fellow who died took it the hardest to see me go the day 
the company left. He followed me clear down to Hazelton, 
a-crying the whole way down. His mother had hard work 
to make him go back with her; he seemed to know he would 
never see me again, and they said in the letter I got that when 
he was a-dying he kept asking for his papa. I looked over 
there when they came closer to the water, and I thought I 
could see a little chap that looked just like him, just the build 
and make-up of my little Jim.” 

We remained on the banks of the Ohio until the third day 
before going to Louisville, long enough to free ourselves of 
the intimate friends that we hated so cordially, notwithstand- 
ing their devotion and fidelity. I have reference to the army 
louse, or, in more polite language, the “‘graybacks.’”’ After 
long boiling and washing of our clothing, which had become 
almost stiffened with the repeated accumulation of dust and 
perspiration, we were once more clean and wholesome. What 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 199 


a luxury that was! How joyful we felt to be free from those 
pests once more! 

The next day we moved our camp within the city limits. 
Having heard of General Sheridan’s presence and promotion 
to the Brigadier Generalship, I felt like visiting him and offer- 
ing my congratulations. I applied for a pass for myself and 
six men, playmates of Sheridan’s, and we started to find his 
headquarters, expecting to get that information at the Gault ~ 
House. | 

On arriving there we found the hotel packed with excited 
officers, while confusion reigned everywhere, caused by the 
killing, a few minutes before we entered, of General Nelson 
by General Jeff C. Davis. This shocking affair prevented me 
from getting the information we had called for. I only 
heard, from a friend we met, that Sheridan’s division would 
form a part of the 3rd Corps, which we at that time be- 
longed to. ; 

When we came to Louisville we found many new regi- 
ments that had been hurried from the North in anticipation 
of the occupation of Kentucky by the enemy. The presence 
of so many called for a new deal of brigades, so to speak Old 
regiments were taken out of old brigades and new ones sub- 
stituted. The main object was that the new soldier might 
learn his duties more readily by associating with experienced, 
disciplined comrades. . While this was undoubtedly true, and 
the plan was really for the good of the service, I must con- 
fess that the new comrades were on more than one occasion 
imposed upon by the veterans. To tell the truth, the old 
soldier robbed the new one. 

The 82nd Indiana came to our brigade. It was one of 
the new ones. Its members nearly all came over the river 
well stocked with small packages of dried fruit, clean towels, 


200 - GENERAL Puoit H. SHERIDAN 


thread, needles and other necessaries that a mother or sister 
had prepared for the departing boy. The fact that these new 
soldiers were so abundantly supplied, tempted daily and 
nightly visits to the 82nd camp, seeking for those delicacies 
and conveniences. So common did those unwelcome visits 
become, that their colonel, who had a voice like a fog horn, 
issued a verbal order one day on dress parade that his men 
should sleep with their knapsacks under their heads, to keep 
those old soldiers from stealing their contents. S 


CHAPTER XIII. 


BUELL LEAVING LOUISVILLE — BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE — A 
MULE LOOKING AT THE BATTLE—DEADLY EFFECT OF 
SHERIDAN’S ARTILLERY. 


BEAUTIFUL day it was on the 7th of October, 
1862, a day so pleasant that it should have been de- 


voted to something less cruel than war, but Buell’s 
army of sixty thousand swarmed out of Louisville from every 
avenue leading South. Everyone knew it was to give battle 
to Bragg, who was not very distant and evidently prepared 
for it. 

Those hosts in blue, with colors flying, marching with 
buoyant step to the music of so many bands, were an inspiring 
sight. Everyone seenied to be in fine spirits. I must modify 
that—all except our regiment. So far as I could see, it was 
the only exception, nearly all our men looking sour and dis- 
appointed because they had been prevented from spending 
their money in Louisville. The paymaster had paid every 
regiment in the brigade but ours, and when he made his ap- 
pearance to pay us an order came to strike tents and move. 
Oh, the disgust and disappointment of that portion that so 
strongly desired to invest their new greenbacks in hilarious- 
ness! When they saw the other regiments paid, they looked 
forward with certainty that in a few hours would come their 
turn. They had promised themselves a good time, and when 
almost within their grasp it was cruelly snatched away. 
Words cannot express their indignation, but there was only 

201 


202 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


one course to pursue, to be resigned, a virtue which they had 
learned soon after volunteering. 

A rumor was current that as soon as Bragg was whipped, 
in a day or two (the Army of the Cumberland always counted 
on being victorious), the paymaster would follow to pay the 
few unpaid regiments. But this was poor consolation; they 
wanted their crisp greenbacks while in the city; besides, they 
might be killed. They could have no enjoyment in the coun-. 
try. For two days some of my boys muttered and grumbled 
like children. By that time our advance began to see and 
skirmish with Bragg’s rear. This we knew meant battle in 
a few days. He was keeping up back to give him more time 
to select and prepare his ground. On the goth, Mitchell was 
in advance and kept up an uninterrupted skirmish. Notwith- 
standing the lateness of the season, the heat was intense, with 
a drought that had prevailed for over two months. Our 
tongues were parched and our lips cracked for want of moist- 
ure, often our mouths filled with dust. 

We bivouacked on the side of the road that night. Very 
early in the morning Sheridan’s division passed us, not over 
ten feet distant, but so dense was the dust that we could not 
distinguish a man. I noticed one of my men had rolled over 
in his sleep quite near me. I could reach him. His features 
were almost obliterated by dust and perspiration. Curiosity 
prompted me to see how much dust I could gather with a 
single grasp of my hand, so I reached over, securing a hand- 
ful: The experiment did not in the least disturb him, and he 
continued his loud snoring without interruption. 

Before we were up we heard firing in our front, not over 
a mile from us. I was satisfed that Sheridan was engaging 
the enemy. We were soon in line and moving toward the 
sound. We did not go far until we halted. A few soldiers 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND tif 202 


had saved a little water to make coffee in the morning, and it 
was quickly prepared. After breakfast I doubt if there re- 
mained a gallon of water in the whole battalion.We moved 
again, crossing a deep, dry valley. On ascending the 
opposite hill we came within the effects of the fight, which 
by this time was becoming general on our center and 
left. The first thing that attracted our attention, as he lay 
in the road, was a soldier with his head cut off by a solid shot, 
evenly to the chin, it having the appearance of having been 
done with a cleaver. . 

We now came near the fighting, without firing a shot; we 
were held in reserve. From the wounded who were brought 
to the rear we learned it was Sheridan fighting in our front. 
I watched with great interest. McCook, who commanded our 
left, I could not see very distinctly because of the hills and 
woods, but we could hear that there was heavy fighting. He . 
was getting the worst of it. It was there we sustained our 
greatest loss. We could plainly see the charges and counter- 
charges of Sheridan’s division with the deadly effect of his 
artillery as the enemy massed to charge McCook. From 
what I was able to learn, it was only Sheridan’s fierce fight- 
ing that saved McCook. I thought I could recognize Sher- 
idan dashing from point to point cheering his infantry with 
his presence. , 

During this hard fighting on our left, which threatened 
that wing with destruction, you will wonder what our right 
was doing. We had miles of men standing in line of battle 
for hours waiting to be ordered in, but such was the misman- 
agement that they received no order, nor did they see an 
enemy. There was not a man in my company so stupid that 
he did not see the glaring mistake and become indignant. I 


204 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


could hear them say: “Why doesn’t Buell order our right 
forward to save the left and easily secure a victory?” 

How those men cursed! What little they could see and 
hear from those who came back to us of how our left was 
hammered and broken, while thousands stood within support- 
ing distance and were not ordered up, enraged them. They 
were intelligent enough to see that a great opportunity was 
lost. There was bitter blasphemy coming from many parched 
lips that I had never heard blaspheme before or afterward, 
for they knew that the wasted opportunity would compel them 
to face the foe again with probably less advantage to us, thus 
prolonging the war. 

As I am not describing battles (history has attended to 
that) I will simply relate incidents as they came to my notice. 
Here is one: 

As we were coming into range of the enemy’s guns, not 
far from the decapitated soldier before mentioned, I saw on 
a slight eminence about twenty steps to my right, a mule 
standing broadside to us, head up, ears pointing back, with 
a cannon ball hole through his neck and such a look of interest 
in his steadfast gaze upon the battle that one might have sup- 
posed he was enjoying the fight. I could distinctly see 
through the neck. I said to my first sergeant, who was walk- 
ing by my side, “Garrett, look at that mule!’ He stared for 
some time, as though fearing his eyes were deceiving him, and 
I shall not forget his quaint saying, so characteristic of him: 
“That would be a d good place for a winder (window).” 
Notwithstanding we were in the midst of stirring scenes all 
that day, I could not forget his reply, which still causes me a 
smile. This sergeant was so full of quaint and funny sayings, 
so full of fun, even when in danger and suffering, and so 
brave, withal, that to me he was an inspiration, and I became 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 205 


much attached to him. His education had been somewhat 
neglected, and he had a contempt for grammar and manners 
that would have unfitted him for the ministry (even if he 
had any aspirations that way, which I think he had not), but 
as an honorable man and brave soldier he had no superior. 

The mule continued on that knoll, apparently looking at 
Sheridan’s division fighting until we had passed out of sight, 
but his lifeblood was dripping so rapidly as we passed him 
that in a few hours at most he gave up this life of toil and 
hardship. 

I have often wondered how we could have carried on that 
war without mules. I cannot imagine how his place could 
have been filled by a substitute, yet history never mentions 
him; no one gives him any credit, nor was he shown much 
kindness. It is true, he is of unsociable disposition; indeed, 
has.an instinctive hankering to kick friend or foe, and firmly 
believes that this, with eating and working, is his most impor- 
tant mission on earth; but, with all his faults, he is entitled 
to our gratitude for what he did to save the Union. How un- 
grateful this republic was when it did not bring the patient, 
persistent, long-suffering, long-eared mules home when the 
war was over to be cared for in good pastures, with rest and 
plenty, for a few years! You may say that the cavalry horse, 
though a much more noble and intelligent animal, was not 
shown that kindness; true, but the case is different. In the 
weary march, and toilsome, rapid raid, the horse had the sym- 
pathetic care of his rider; a tender friendship existed between 
them; he could feel the thrill of exaltation and knew the im- 
port of being a pursuing victor. The triumphs of the rider 
flashed through the animal’s veins; in short, he felt a human 
heart’s excitement and glow, and when that was over he could 
hear and understand the affectionate words and loving 


206 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


caresses of his rider, while his cousin, the mule, after the long, 
weary pull of a hot or cold day could hear only the abuse of 
his driver and received only beatings and thumps from cruel 
teamsters. 

By four o’clock that afternoon the battle was over. We 
lost nearly five thousand killed and wounded. It was no vic- 
tory for us, notwithstanding we held the field. The enemy 
had accomplished their object, crippling us to such an extent 
that we must halt a day at least, thus giving them time to get 
the supplies they had accumulated in Kentucky out of the way. 

We laid down that night expecting to resume action in 
the morning. It was rumored we would attack at daylight, 
but when daylight came the enemy was not in our front. We 
afterward heard that it was not Buell’s original intention to 
fight until next day; that it had been brought on by Sheridan 
driving the enemy from a spring, for which his men were 
famishing, and in the attempt to retake it forces were added 
to each side until the battle became general. 

General Buell must have learned that a foeman does not 
always co-operate with his enemy and wait until the opposition 
has completed details of its plans. In the morning, instead 
of finding a grey battle line in front, there were only the dead 
and mortally wounded, and for us a barren victory. 

We sat in the dust that morning drinking our coffee and 
eating our hard bread, disappointed and gloomy. During our 
march from Mississippi to the Ohio we had formed a high 
opinion of General Buell. No man could have moved that 
army with greater celerity and regularity than he. He was 
certainly a fine organizer, but he lacked the faculty for taking 
advantage of an opportunity, and I think he was too deficient 
in the nerve requisite to assume great responsibilities, char- 
acteristics that Sheridan possessed to a wonderful degree. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 207 


About nine o’clock that morning an order came to me 
through our adjutant to report at General McCook’s head- 
quarters with my company and there obtain picks and shovels 
to assist in burying the dead. Before leaving, I tried to ascer- 
tain where General McCook’s headquarters were located, but 
could get no reliable information; the best I could learn was 
that it was to our left about three miles. We started in that 
direction, inquiring of every mounted officer we met the 
whereabouts of McCook’s headquarters, but no one could give 
us the required information. In this indefinite manner we 
roved over this battle-field for nearly two hours, when my 
attention was called to some soldiers digging not far away. 
We headed for that party, hoping to hear something of our 
destination. On descending a little hill we found two soldiers 
digging a grave under the shade of a tree. I halted the com- 
mand near this spot and they ceased their labors to answer 
our oft-repeated questions as to McCook’s quarters. They 
could tell us nothing definite, stating that they belonged to 
Sheridan; to one of the new regiments; that the pick and 
shovel they were using to bury their dead brother, pointing 
to a small soldier who lay near another a few feet away, be- 
longed to their company. By this time the brothers’ feelings 
so overcame them that they ceased speaking of him. I 
stepped over to look at him. There was almost a smile on 
his young face—no expression of pain. He could not have 
suffered, for he was shot through the heart. After one of 
the brothers had somewhat mastered his emotions he said: 

“Tt is the thought of our mother, when she hears of his 
death, that is so painful to us. She never consented to his 
going, as he was too young, not yet seventeen, and was never 
very healthy; I suppose for that reason he was always her 
favorite. We know when she receives this sad message it 


208 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


will almost kill her. Her letters are all about Willie. Here 
is one he received before we left Louisville; we took it out of 
his blouse near the spot where he was shot; you can see the 
blood stains on it.” : 

_ Tread it several times before returning it. The substance 
was so characteristic of a mother that I well remember it. It 
commenced by saying that it was the opinion of many that in 
a few days an important battle would be fought; that since 
she had read that, a dread she had never felt before had come 
over her. Most of all, she dreaded for him the fatigue of 
rapid marching incident to a battle, with his heavy gun and 
the other load a soldier must carry, and requested that he ask 
his brother James,-who was stronger, to carry it for him when 
the day was hot or the march long. She said: 

“Perhaps, after the first battle, I may not have these ter- 
rible feelings, but until it is over, and I have heard of your 
safety, I shall have thoughts and suspense that none but a 
mother can feel.” 

I returned the bloody letter of the affectionate mother, 
and looked into the grave, which was almost three feet deep, 
with an off-set within a foot of the bottom, where, after the 
body was placed, boards could be laid across to separate it 
from the earth. 

I asked of the brother if he would accept our services to 
carry out the remainder of the sad duties, and they were glad 
to accept. When the grave was prepared, two of my men 
carried the body over, gently placed him in his narrow home, 
boards were soon found to rest on the off-set, and the grave 
was finished with a neat mound to mark the spot. 

The pathetic picture before us and the story of the two 
brothers as they spoke of their mother’s broken heart, when 
she should hear of the death of her favorite boy, caused a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 209 


choking sensation in the breasts of more than one of those 
rough spectators and tears stood in several eyes. When Miles 
and Jones had discharged the last duty of laying him away 
in his bloody blue shroud, we bid them good-bye, hearing no 
requiem but the sobs of the brothers and the gentle murmur 
of the breeze as it rustled through the leafy bower that 
shaded us. 

I found on this field, as on others, that as soon as night 
spread its black veil over the horrors of the day, the soldier- 
robber goes out to search the dead for their valuables. I 
found the pockets of the slain turned inside out, and the rings 
taken from their fingers. I saw a Confederate officer whose 
hand was covered with dried blood, except where a wide ring 
had left the skin white, in striking contrast to the remainder 
of the crimson member. 

In their search for valuables, letters would be thrown out. 
I felt curious to read one that lay beside a fine-looking man. 
I intended to return it to the writer, explaining my possession 
of it. It was a well-written, patriotic love letter from a girl 
to her betrothed, but she did not appear to realize the uncer- 
tainties of war, as she concluded by painting a picture of the 
most perfect happiness for them after his return, which she 
thought would not be delayed longer than a year. How ter- 
ribly her bright anticipations were shattered only a few days 
afterward! The letter had not been written more than two 
weeks before he was killed, It was probably the first time he 
had heard from her, as he was a member of one of the new 
Illinois regiments that had joined us a few days before. 

I carried the letter several days, as we were pursuing the 
enemy and no mail was received or sent, so there was no op- 
portunity to return it to the girl, When a chance came I 


210 : GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


found it so badly faded from rain and perspiration that 1t was 
illegible. | 

A rain followed the second night after the battle, impress- 
ing me with the truth of the saying, “rain follows battles.” 
This had been true of Mill Springs, Shiloh and Perryville. 

On the second day we left the field. Now the whole army 
was in motion. When we came to the main road on our 
march we found it filled with troops as far as the eye could 
see. Those on the road having the right of way, we were 
detained some time before we could follow. Our long delay 
was in the midst of what had been a Confederate field hospital, 
under some trees where still lay the dead and dying, and at 
this place I saw a remarkable case of tenacity to life in a Con- 
federate soldier who had been shot through the temples, his 
brain protruding from both sides, but who retained strength 
sufficient to raise himself on his hands and knees, then in 
weakness to topple over again. 

When we finally did start, the crowding of troops, the 
blockading of wagons and the caution we had to observe, for 
we were yet uncertain as to the movements and plans of - 
Bragg, rendered our progress slow, indeed. We did not get 
farther than the town of Perryville, and halted to camp in a 
drizzling rain. As our wagons were not with us, we were 
without tents or rations, but an incident gave half of my com- 
pany and myself good shelter and plenty to eat. 

Soon after we halted and stacked arms, I looked down 
the slope toward the town and noticed, a distance away, a 
two-story house with good outbuildings, all having an appear- 
ance of prosperity. A woman was running toward us with 
streaming hair and loud shrieks. I went out to meet her, 
and when she came near enough she asked, with panting 
breath, where the colonel was. Her features and manner be- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 211 


trayed great fear and excitement. I could not see the colonel, 
but pointed to the lieutenant-colonel, who was standing by a 
little fire. My curiosity being aroused, I followed her to learn 
the cause of all this alarm. When she reached him she said: 

“Oh, colonel, the soldiers are robbing my house and threat- 
ening to kill me. My rooms are full of men. For God’s 
sake, protect me! Send some of your soldiers to drive them 
away. They may burn my home!” 

As soon as the colonel heard her story, seeing me near, 
he told me to take my first platoon and hurry down, surround 
the house and bring the robbers to him. I ran back to my 
company, ordered the first platoon to fall in and take arms, 
which they quickly did, and we started down the hill on a 
double quick, but the rascals were too smart to be caught; 
they had men on the outlook for us. 

When they saw us coming they alarmed those inside, for I 
could see a scurrying to and fro. We could see them swarm- 
ing from windows and doors, running in an opposite direc- 
tion, where the mass of the army lay. When we arrived, not 
one could be found, but we did find that house in an awful 
condition; the rooms had the appearance of being struck with 
a cyclone. Every straw and feather bed had been opened 
and the contents emptied; in some places the feathers were 
knee deep; this was to search for money that might be hidden. 
Those more hungry than avaricious had ransacked the pan- 
tries, cupboards, cellar and smokehouse for eatables. We 
found honey, molasses, preserves and canned fruit smeared 
everywhere. Others had broken open drawers and trunks 
looking for jewelry and watches. The poor woman and her ' 
children followed us from room to room, sobbing over the 
scene of destruction and confusion. I asked the lady why she 
had not notified us sooner so we might have prevented so 


212 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


much loss. She explained that the first thing they did was to 
lock her up in one of the rooms which, fortunately, was on 
the main floor, where she waited until they became thoroughly 
engaged. She then opened the window and made her escape. 
My boys found pieces of ham with the best portions cut out, 
which, when we showed them to her, she begged us to keep 
if we could use them, for the meat had been trampled under 
foot. Very short rations, indeed none for a day, had made 
us more hungry than fastidious, therefore we were glad of 
something. In this way we picked up many scraps which 
they had left behind in their hurry to escape, enough to make 
us a feast. We were not epicures just then. 

After arranging her household the best we could, I told 
her we would return to camp. At this proposition her sobs 
and cries broke out anew and she begged us to remain through 
the night, as the robbers would surely return when they found 
we had gone. I told her we had been sent down to drive 
away or capture the robbers, and as we had done all we could 
our mission was over and it was our duty to return. “This 
the colonel will expect, much as I would prefer to protect you 
and remain under this comfortable shelter.” | 

She then asked, “Would you and your men remain with 
the colonel’s consent?” 

“Gladly,” I replied. ‘You see how it is raining and get- 
ting cooler, and we have no tents, but I could not ask him— 
it would be selfish.” 7 

I collected my men and marched them back, the lady fol- 
lowing us in tears to gain the consent of the colonel. I was 
within hearing distance when she pleaded, telling him of her 
unprotected condition, with no neighbors near, and that she 
feared death should the robbers return. The lieutenant- 
colonel, a good man, gave his consent that we should stay 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 213 


until morning, calling over to me to “take the first platoon 
back.” 

How happy that woman was! Repeatedly she thanked 
him; then, fearing I had not heard the order, she ran over 
through the mud to tell me what he had said. Of course we 
were pleased to return, for we knew that we could pick up 
more than enough of what the thieves had left in their flight 
to furnish us with another feast for supper. 

In the morning the rain was over and we parted, mutually 
grateful, she for the protection we had afforded her and we 
for the food and shelter we so enjoyed. And as the army 
was then in motion I could safely assure her that the soldiers 
would be gone from that locality by twelve o’clock. 

That afternoon we went into camp five miles east. We 
were yet moving cautiously, as there was some doubt as to 
Brage’s movements. As it was late in the afternoon when we 
halted, there was every indication that we would remain there 
through the night. A soldier passed me carrying two chick- 
ens; he had been out foraging. I offered a dollar for one, a 
good fat hen, which was accepted. I asked my cook to pre- 
pare and cook it as quickly as possible, as we might be ordered 
away at any time. He had just got it on the fire when, to 
my disgust, we were ordered to form the battalion to march. 
I thought it meant a night march, and so it did. Calling the 
cook to me before we started, I told him to remain and cook 
the chicken, as I had heard the wagons would follow. I 
thought it would be cooked by the time they came. “By to- 
morrow, if there is no battle, they will surely reach us. You 
know how hungry we will be by that time. Save me at least 
one-half.” | He looked me honestly and innocently in the face, 
saying I would have over half, I would have it all; the gizzard, 
if I had no objection, was all he wanted; he would be thankful 


214 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


for that. ‘“‘You shall have the balance; it is cool now and I 
will salt it well so it will keep for several days.” 

Then the bugle sounded ‘‘forward” and we parted. My 
one pleasant thought while on that march was that I had a 
good, honest cook; yes, positively, I had a devoted, truthful 
cook, always looking out for my comfort and enjoyment. 
We marched all night, entering Harrodsburg early in the 
morning. As soon as it was light enough I found myself 
looking back along the road, hoping to see the wagon train 
coming, though at the same time knowing that it was too soon 
to hope for that. I did not care so much to see the train itself 
as the chicken it would bring me. We moved cautiously that 
day, expecting to come upon the enemy at any moment, as 
there had been a slight skirmish with the rear guard very 
early that morning. But the thought uppermost in my mind 
that whole day, to the exclusion of all else on earth, was the 
chicken; it was a matter of greater import to me, hungry as 
I was, than the pursuit of Bragg or even the rise and fall of 
empires. But that evening the enemy entirely disappeared 
from our front. We slept that night. There was no alarm, 
no marching. 

Late the following afternoon we heard that the wagons 
were coming. Of course by this time no one will doubt that 
I was prepared to enjoy what had been ever present in my 
mind, that chicken. I had now fully concluded that I would 
not accept of more than half of it, for the cook would be enti- 
tled to half for his fidelity. There would be no doubt of its 
fresh condition, for the weather was quite cool. Someone 
who had probably been on the lookout in the next company 
called out, “There comes the wagons!’ Others soon repeated 
the welcome words. I mounted a fence and, recognizing our 
team of sorrel mules, started for them. Before reaching 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 215 


them they had turned off the road and were going into camp. 
As I came up the cook and teamster greeted me cheerfully. 
Without much delay I asked for the chicken. An ominous 
change came in the expression of their faces, and in sym- 
pathetic tones they told me of their misfortune during the 
night which robbed them of my chicken. 

“Gordon was driving and fell asleep and the wagon run 
agin a stump and upset the whole business. We had the 
chicken wrapped up in paper in that camp kettle; it was on 
top of the load and when the things spilled out the kettle 
rolled in a mudhole. When we found it it was so muddy 
we had to throw it away. Yes, in the darkness we tramped on 
it. When picked up it was in such condition that no man 
could eat it, so we just left it there. We hated to, like thun- 
der, on your account, for we knowed how hungry you 
would be.” 

The teamster was standing by and acted as a sympathetic 
chorus while this tale of misfortune was being unfolded, fully 
and warmly corroborating every word of it, and expressing 
himself as feeling wretchedly on my account. Sitting on that 
log, listening to their harrowing tale, I was the picture of dis- 
appointment and despondency. Sometimes a doubt as to the 
truth of the story would arise, but, having nothing to base 
this doubt upon, I suppressed it and walked away, plunged 
into the innermost depths of gloom. How much stronger 
the appetite is than the nobler emotions, sometimes even 
stronger than fear, for we were then hourly expecting to face 
the enemy in action, but that fact did not trouble me, the 
chicken vanquished every other thought. 

Several years after the war, when the 31st, or a remnant 
of it, was sitting at a table enjoying a good dinner at one of 
our yearly reunions, I first learned the truth concerning my 


216 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


chicken. My company’s teamster happened to be sitting op- 
posite me at table and he said: 

“Captain, I want to make a confession, to unbosom my- 
self. Maybe it will be my last chance. You remember a 
chicken you gave to your cook the day after the Perryville 
fight, and we told you the wagon upset and spilled it out in 
the mud?” | 

“Yes,” I replied, “I will never forget that disappoint- 
ment.” 

“Tl tell you the whole story. The next day, fearing we 
wouldn’t see you for a day or two, and as the weather wasn’t 
so very cold, we thought it might spile, so we concluded to 
eat it up to keep it from spilin’; so me an’ your cook et it, an’ 
a mighty good fat hen it was, you bet. We were afeered to 
tell you we et it, so we made up the story of the wagon up- 
settin’ an’ spillin’ it out in the mud.” 

Time had removed the bitterness of the disappointment, 
and of course we had a good laugh over the long-deferred 
confession. 

The fourth day after the commencement of the chase after 
Bragg, we arrived at Crabb Orchard, Kentucky, and found 
the whole army in camp, they having abandoned the pursuit 
owing to the hilly country and the distance between the two 
armies. I found General Sheridan’s quarters not very distant 
from our camp. The next afternoon I concluded to call on 
the general and his brother, Lieutenant M. V. Sheridan, who 
was on his staff. I found the lieutenant reclining under a 
tree near his brother’s quarters, and after a short talk we went 
to the general’s tent. Before entering, I said, “I desire to 
see if Phil will recognize me.” I had changed greatly, being 
thin and tanned, and we had not seen each other for seven 
years. After a shake I asked if he knew me. He gave a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 217, 


careful look and said he did not. ‘Then, after another look, 
he said, “Yes! It’s Hen Greiner.” A change very quickly 
~ came into his bright eyes, and I am sure he was pleased to 
meet his old playmate once more. | 

Our talk was of home, then of the war. He was much 
disappointed with the result and management of the Perry- 
ville battle. I told him of a personal difficulty I had had with 
our brigade general; of his incompetency and tyranny; that 
if I thought he would remain as our general during the war 
I would resign. I remember his reply to this: “Don’t do that; 
this is a great struggle we are in now, and it will take every 
man we can raise to carry it through successfully. Don’t 
resign. We all have our trials and difficulties, and should 
bear them as best we can, to see this thing out.” 

Lieutenant Sheridan was with Phil almost constantly from 
the beginning of the war to its close, and was consulted by 
the general in his operations. He was more like his distin- 
guished brother in his makeup than the second brother, John. 
He fought his way up from a second-lieutenancy to the rank 
of major, and is now a General, retired. 

In 1892 I had business with Colonel M. V. Sheridan, then 
stationed at Washington, D. C. One evening we called on 
Mrs. P. H. Sheridan. I was introduced to the twin girls and 
little Phil, who was then about five or six years old. He paid 
no attention to the introduction, nor did he show any interest 
in me until his mother said, “This gentleman played with your 
papa when he was a little boy.” Then he became interested; 
he turned and looked me in the face, remaining thus until the 
nurse reminded him that it was time to retire, but still there 
was a steadfast gaze. It seemed a revelation to him that his 
papa had ever been a boy. The little fellow had never thought 
of him in that light before; had probably never heard him 


218 GENERAL Puoit H. SHERIDAN 


referred to as a boy, and it required a little gentle force on 
the part of the nurse before he would leave the room, still 
intently gazing at the ‘“‘gentleman who had played with his 
papa when he was a little boy.” 

The unsatisfactory result of the Perryville fight had the 
result of retiring General Buell from command of the Army 
of the Ohio (it had not then changed its name to the Army 
of the Cumberland). General Rosecrans was assigned to his 
place. Now came greater activity. It was the beginning of 
the winter campaign. We were marched back toward Nash- 
ville. 

In one of our camps during this march I witnessed a scene 
which was a characteristic war picture. It made more than 
an ordinary impression on my mind when we were told by a 
citizen that we were then near the spot where the great Lin- 
coln first drew breath, the banks of Rolling Fork, a tributary 
of the Kentucky river. Our division halted on a farm, rough 
on the surface, but well kept and exceedingly well fenced 
with the old-fashioned split rails, the kind a cold, wet soldier 
loves to camp near, and that was our condition when we 
halted. Our regiment was on a hill, overlooking the entire 
farm, which was divided into small fields, all fenced with stake 
and riders. The change that followed in thirty minutes 
would have been wonderful to one not accustomed to such 
scenes, but it was pitiful, for by that time not a fence could 
be seen, nor a rail, except those on the fires drying and warm- 
ing the cold soldiers. The utter desolation of the picture 
when I imagined the feelings of the unhappy owner of the 
farm, who was now ruined, left a sad memory in my mind. 

With easy marches we again arrived in the vicinity of 
Nashville. It was well known by this time that the enemy 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 219 


was concentrating a large force between us and Murfrees- 
boro, which is about thirty miles south of Nashville. 

About the middle of November General Sheridan’s divi- 
sion was moved out fifteen miles or so toward the enemy on 
the Nolensville pike. The scouts reported a Confederate 
force there of fifty to sixty thousand. From the threatening 
advance of our army on those roads they could see we meant 
battle, and they prepared by occupying strong positions about 
Murfreesboro. General McCook, under whom General Sher- 
idan was serving, commanded the right wing, General Thomas 
the center and General Crittenden the left. 

It is related that, late in the afternoon after the battle, 
with all his generals killed and nearly half of his division 
wounded and slain, he was ordered to report them to General 
Rosecrans. He did so, and with tears in his eyes, pointing 
to the remnant, said: “This is all that is left of them, gen- 
eral.” 

When Bragg fell back to Tallahoma and Shelbyville, we 
occupied the country south of this place, our division south- 
east of the town and in sight of Sheridan, who was west of 
us. While in this camp I heard of his promotion to be major- 
general, which reward he had well earned in the last battle by 
his valor, pluck and skill. We remained in this vicinity for 
several months, making reconnaissance in the direction of the 
enemy. It was here a very strict system of outpost duty was 
enforced by a general order. We were not allowed any fire 
after night, although the weather was cold, nor were commis- 
sioned officers allowed to sleep at night. This strict order 
might have been wise on the part of the commanding general, 
but we thought it a little tough on the company officers. Its 
necessity probably appeared from the fact that the enemy was 


220 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


not many miles from us. An attack could be expected at 
any time. 

On our second or third night after this order had gone 
into effect, an incident occurred that was characteristic of 
the routine of American volunteter life. For that reason I 
relate it. My memory often goes back to those scenes and 
incidents which appear more amusing now, some of them 
causing a smile in the remembrance, others a sigh of sorrow, 
for I often wonder where that “‘boy’’ is now. 

On this occasion I relieved a company on outpost duty. 
The captain handed me a copy of the order above mentioned 
as to no fire, no sleep, and other restrictions. The reserve 
where I was to remain with that part of the company not on 
duty was protected by a large rock, probably ten feet high 
and longer. Nothing unusual occurred during the day. It 
was reasonably pleasant with a fire behind that large rock, 
sheltered from the wind, but I dreaded the long, dreary night 
that was coming, without sleep or fire. I stood this watch 
until two or three o’clock, when an irresistible desire overcame 
me to squat down by a handful of live coals, smoldering in 
the ashes against the rock. I received a little warmth and 
might have been half asleep when I heard a loud, strange voice 
on the other side of the rock, where the sentry for the reserve 
was stationed. This strange voice was pouring forth a torrent 
of abuse interspersed with profanity, which I soon discovered 
was aimed at the soldier on duty. I found that this loud pro- 
fanity came from a mounted officer, an Indiana major, who 
belonged to the brigade; he was officer of the night, making 
the grand rounds. Before I made my appearance I heard 
him ask the sentinel his name, the regiment and company and 
who was in command of the post. It was then I stepped out 
from my shelter, giving him the required information. He 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 221 


then repeated the abuse he had heaped upon Dorsay, the 
guard, whom he accused of being amiss in his duties in allow- 
ing him to ride almost up to him before he was halted, and, 
worse than all, he claimed the sentry had not the correct coun- 
tersign. He concluded the lecture by threatening to report 
me for permitting such a blockhead to do duty at an impor- 
tant point. I had the last word by insisting that he should do 
so. When I came out and found it was Dorsay who was 
in the wrangle, knowing how prone he was to do things 
wrong and misunderstand instructions, I was somewhat 
troubled, for the boy was sometimes non compos mentis; one 
of his great troubles was in getting countersigns incorrect. 
I began to think the major had cause for complaint, and so 
prepared myself to be called on when I returned to camp to 
make some explanation to my superior officer. As is natural, 
I blamed the corporal for placing Dorsay where he did; human 
nature is always shifting the responsibility upon someone else. 

While this triangular row was going on between the 
major, Dorsay and myself, several of my boys were awakened 
by it. Among the number was Abe Stedman, always called 
by his comrades, ‘“‘Abe Lincoln,” from his resemblance to that 
great but homely man. After the major’s departure Abe 
came to me and said: 

“Captain, if he reports you for what Dorsay did, I would 
prefer charges against him for being drunk on duty. I’m 
willing to swear that he is that now.” 

I was of the same opinion that Abe was. 

To our joy we could now see the approach of morning, 
which I had thought to be traveling on leaden wings. Now 
we could rebuild the fires and make coffee; then during the 
forenoon the relief came and we got into line to trudge back 
several miles to camp through the half-frozen mud. I, of 


222 GENERAL Putin H. SHERIDAN 


course, was not feeling “lovely,” as the girls call it; I was 
chilly, sleepy and apprehensive that I would be called ae 
to explain the trouble of last night. 

Before we arrived in camp, I heard a voice behind me con- 
signing someone to the infernal regions and that he remain 
there in endless torment. The words were not loud, scarcely 
audible. I looked around and saw it was Abe. He was 
then almost at my side. It was he who was showering male- 
dictions, communing to himself. 

“What is the trouble Abe; with whom have you had a 
row?” 

“No one!” was the reply. 

“Who were you cursing as you came up?” 

“Oh, that infernal drunken major that threatened to put 
you under arrest for Dorsay’s blunder. I'll fix him! TIl fix 
him!” 

I knew Abe liked me and any offense offered me would be 
promptly resented by him, but I could not see what he could 
do for me inthis case. I learned a few hours afterward, how- 
ever, that he was fruitful in resources, a deep schemer. As 
he did not foreshadow his plan, I was completely in the dark 
as to how he could “fix him.” To allay his feelings, I said: 

“Abe, I gave that major all he sent and some to spare; he 
didn’t bluff me. I hope in order to get even with him you 
would not, if you could, do him a secret injury. You are too 
honorable for that.” 

“T don’t know if you call it a secret injury or not, but I’ll 
get even with him; you will know tonight.” 

With this mysterious information he went back to his 
place. 

When we arrived in camp I was not long in finding the 
first sergeant, who had been left in camp. My mission was, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND press 


ostensibly, to get my mail, but in reality to learn if an order 
had been left me to report to some superior officer and explain 
last night’s trouble. I breathed easier when I found no order 
had been left. 

At the approach of night Abe came to me as I was pre- 
paring to go to sleep and said, ‘Don’t go to bed, yit; wait an 
hour.” JI asked him why. Then with another mysterious 
and significant look he said, in a whisper, “I’ve found where 
the Indiana major’s tent is; I’m going there now.” 

“What has that got to do with my going to sleep?” 

“You'll see when I git back.” 

Giving me no further insight into the mystery, we parted. 
I, forgetting the matter, soon went to sleep. In less than an 
hour I was awakened by a gentle shake. On looking up I 
saw Abe standing over me, his homely face beaming with joy. 

“Git up, Cap, and eat some ham and stewed peaches with 
plenty of good coffee. We haven’t had ham and peaches for 
two years.” 

The excuse that I was more sleepy than hungry wouldn’t 
satisfy him. 

“Oh, git up! I’ve been over to that major’s quarters.” 

I had to get up and taste of the stolen fruit. He thought 
it would be sweetened with a revenge as dear to me as it was 
to him. 

When fairly awake, and while eating, I said, “Now, Abe, 
you must tell me where you got all this, for we never saw ham 
and stewed peaches in camp before.” 

“That’s just what I am going to tell you. You remember 
I told you not to go to sleep; that I was going over to the 
Indiana camp. Well, I went over there, that was my second 
trip, and I found the major’s nigger cooking supper for him. 
I stood around the fire warming myself and got on good terms 


224 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


with him. I asked him where the major got that ham he 
was a-slicin’ and the dried peaches that was on the fire. He 
said they was brought from Indiana. I made him believe I 
belonged to the 82nd Indiana. After the ham was fried and 
the coffee was done it was dark, and then I said, “Here, you 
take this money and go to the sutler’s and get a bottle of 
whiskey,’ and I handed him a Confederate bill. I knew he 
didn’t know whether it was good or not. He took it and 
looked tickled and started. When he got out of sight I picked 
up the ham and put it in my haversack, and then I picked up 
the tin bucket that had the peaches in it, and with that in 
one hand and the coffee pot in the other I made good time 
for here. I didn’t meet a man on the way. Ain't these 
peaches good? I haven’t tasted any for three years. Take 
some more of them. My haversack was clean—I washed it 
not over two weeks ago when we crossed Duck river. “‘Liis 
coffee pot will come in good for you. I heard your cook say 
the other day that yours was about played out. Didn't I tell 
you I'd get even with that major?” 

While talking in this strain he was as happy a boy as ever 
lived. His soul was filled with joy. He was delighted that 
he could offer me this rare supper and with it, as he thought, 
the thrills of revenge. I felt as did the French king, “It is 
sweet to be so loved.” 

When the ham, peaches and coffee had disappeared and 
we were about to separate, he expressed one regret before 
bidding me good-night. “The only thing I don’t like about 
this is that when that major comes for his supper and finds it 
gone he may give that nigger a lickin’, but I can’t help that. 
The ‘just must suffer with the unjust; the innocent have to 
suffer with the guilty.’ I wanted to get even with the major.” 

But Abe had a dear, kindly nature, despite his strong de- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 225 


sire to get even. I never saw or heard of him after the war. 
Some of the boys at one of our reunions said Abe had gone 
west and died of fever; another reported that he had been 
killed in a railroad accident; but, if being a good soldier, with 
a kind, generous heart, will save him, he is in heaven. 

Abe is living. I learned last January, 1908, that he was at 
the Danville Soldiers’ Home. I hope to have him at my house 
in the future to eat fried ham, stewed peaches and drink coffee. 

‘Thomas’ Division remained at Murfreesboro until about 
the middle of March, when we were ordered to Tirune, Tenn., 
to be under command of General Schofield. It was in Triune 
that I saw the Chicago Board of Trade battery. My atten- 
tion was called to it by its fine horses, beautiful guns and first- 
class equipment. It was going through Sunday morning in- 
spection. I stopped to inquire what battery it was. The 
answer came, “Chicago Board of Trade.” I thought the man 
was “guying”’ me, and asked why he called it that. He ex- 
plained that the Chicago Board of Trade had equipped and 
presented it to the government. I had never heard of New 
York, Philadelphia or any of our other large cities presenting 
the government with batteries, so ever since I saw if that fine 
Sunday morning I have associated that Board of Trade with 
thoughts of loyalty and patriotism. 

While at this camp, the last one where I was with the 31st 
Ohio, another incident occurred that may give the reader an 
insight into soldier life and its fun, which is one of the objects 
of this work, for this feature of the war remains almost 
wholly unrecorded. 

It was on the night before I left, a dark night, about nine 
or ten o’clock. I heard a very unusual sound, or variety of 
sounds, and an occasional uproar, intermingled with what 
sounded like dogs barking and fighting. We still occupied 


226 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


our detached position nearly a mile from the battalion, guard- 
ing the battery. This unusual noise that we were listening to 
was not explained until one of my company came back from 
the regiment where he had been to see a friend in another 
company. Seeing him as he came up, I inquired what caused 
the commotion in the other camp. 

“T’ll tell you what it is. You'd laugh, if you were down 
there. You see, they have drawn their dog tents today and 
had to give up their big ones, and it makes them mad, for a 
dog tent ain’t too big for one man, but two have to sleep in 
them; besides, on the march they have to carry them—one 
man carries the little poles, the other the tent. That’s what 
makes them the maddest. This afternoon after supper they 
put them up and it wasn’t long after they got into them when 
some fellow got to barkin’, then others commenced, and about 
dark the whole regiment commenced barkin’ an’ playin’ dog. 
If some fellow would come through another fellow’s company 
street, some of them would run out on all fours and drive him 
away; 1f they would happen to meet they would extend the 
usual courtesies dogs do, but maybe it would end in a fight, 
especially if one dog tried to get a little too familiar with the 
other. If they got into a fight, other dogs would run out 
and get mixed in until sometimes eight or ten would be in a 
pile a-barkin’, a-bitin’, an’ a-howlin’. It wasn’t safe for a 
member of one company to go through another company’s 
streets; if he did, more than one would run out at him.” 

“How did the colonel like it?” I inquired. : 

“Oh, he got mad as the devil about it and tried to stop it 
by sending Adjutant Hayden (now of Oak Park, Chicago) 
with a detail to arrest all he found making a noise, but there 
were always some of them on the lookout; so when the adju- 
tant came near, the noise would cease and the dogs go into 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 27 


their tents; then it would break out again in a dozen other 
places, so that detail kept marching up and down for an hour, 
but they didn’t arrest one noisy dog. I don’t believe the ad- 
jutant was very anxious to arrest them, for he liked the fun.” 

The next day after the dogfights I left the boys of the 
31st. For a year I had been receiving letters from my wife 
telling me of the increasing dementia of my father and of my 
mother’s complete blindness. The two put my domestic mat- 
ters in a very unhappy condition, beyond the control of my 
wife, for in those war days suitable help was not easily obtain- 
able in a village. 

I had made application for a leave of absence. After 
waiting a month, I was informed by General Rosecrans, assist- 
ant adjutant-general, that so many applications were in, sev- 
eral months might elapse before action could be taken in my 
case, and then it might be disapproved. I then sent in my 
resignation, stating reasons, and asking for prompt action. 
In a reasonable time it was accepted. 

Before leaving my company I called them into line, as I 
did the day I was sent to them a year before, but the condi- 
tions were greatly changed. When I first met them they 
treated me with coldness and dislike, but with soldierly 
respect, regarding me as a hated intruder. I was leaving 
them now with all the evidences of attachment and affection 
between us. I took each one by the hand, expressing the hope 
that we should meet again, but I knew I should never see 
many of them. Neither did I, for the heavy fighting of this 
regiment came after I left them. Many fell in action; others 
died from sickness. 

At this time there was no indication of a forward move- 
ment, but the following July General Sheridan had a number 
of skirmishes, in every one of which he was victorious. In 


228 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


one of his pursuits, when he drove the enemy across the Ten- 
nessee river, he attempted to return to the main part of his 
division by a hand car, which would not only relieve his own 
fatigue but rest his horse, which would be led back by his 
orderly. 

This is the story of the unpleasant and dangerous trip, 
as told by himself: 


“Nothing further could now be done, so I instructed Wat- 
kins to rejoin the division at Cowan, and being greatly fa- 
tigued by the hard campaigning of the previous ten days, I 
concluded to go back to my camp in a more comfortable way 
than on the back of my tired horse. In his retreat the enemy 
had not disturbed the railway track at all, and as we had cap- 
tured a hand-car at Cowan, I thought I would have it 
brought up to the station near the university to carry me 
down the mountain to my camp, and, desiring company, I 
persuasively invited Colonel Frank T. Sherman to ride with 
me. I sent for the car by a courier, and for a long time pa- 
tiently awaited its arrival—in fact, until all the returning 
troops had passed us, but still it did not come. Thinking it 
somewhat risky to remain at the station without protection, 
Sherman and myself started our horses to Cowan by our or- 
derlies, and set out on foot to meet the car, trudging along 
down the track in momentary expectation of falling in with 
our private conveyance. We had not gone very far before 
night overtook us, and we then began to realize the dangers 
surrounding us, for there we were alone and helpless, tramp- 
ing on in the darkness over an unknown railroad track in the 
enemy’s country, liable on the one hand to go tumbling 
through some bridge or trestle, and on the other, to possible 
capture or death at the hands of the guerrillas then infesting 
these mountains. Just after dark we came to a little cabin 
near the track, where we made bold to ask for water, notwith- 
standing the fact that to disclose ourselves to the inmates 
might lead to fatal consequences. The water was kindly 
given, but the owner and his family were very much exercised 
lest some misfortune might befall us near their house, and be 
charged to them, so they encouraged us to move on with a 
frankness inspired by fear of future trouble to themselves. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F RIEND 229 


“At every turn we eagerly hoped to meet the hand-car, but 
it never came, and we jolted on from tie to tie for eleven weary 
miles, reaching Cowan after midnight, exhausted and sore in 
every muscle from frequent falls on the rough, unballasted 
road-bed. Inquiry developed that the car had been well 
manned, and started to us as ordered, and nobody could ac- 
count for its non-arrival. Further investigation next day 
showed, however, that when it reached the foot of the moun- 
tain, where the railroad formed a junction, the improvised 
crew, in the belief no doubt that the University was on the 
main line instead of near the branch to Tracy City, followed 
the main stem until it carried them clear across the range 
down the Crow Creek Valley, where the party was captured. 

“TI had reason to remember for many a day this foolish 
adventure, for my sore bones and bruised muscles caused me 
physical suffering until I left the Army of the Cumberland 
the next spring; but I had still more reason to feel for my 
captured men, and on this account I have never ceased to 
regret that I so thoughtlessly undertook to rejoin my troops 
by rail, instead of sticking to my faithful horse.” 


It seems that fate so ordained it, or the force of circum- 
stances, that in many of our moves and changes General Sher- 
idan and I should drift in the same direction. 

We left school the same year, both to be employed in coun- 
try stores at the age of fourteen. In the winter of ’49-’50 I 
went to California. A year later he followed me to the north- 
ern part of that country, being stationed with his regiment on 
the same stream, though I was not then aware of it. When 
the war broke out our regiment was sent to the Army of the 
Cumberland; Sheridan was, soon after, assigned to the same 
army. The next year, when I resigned and raised another 
company, we were sent to the Shenandoah Valley. We had 
not been there more than two months until Sheridan was in 
command of that valley. But, in all these changes, we did 
not often meet. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


PEN PICTURE OF SHERIDAN—HIS GREAT TACT—-HOW HE EN- 
RAGED THE,MICHIGAN BOYS—HOW THE BOY OF SIXTEEN 
GOT TO THE FRONT. 


came a prominent and brilliant figure. Only a year 

before he had been but a captain, when there were 
hundreds of brigadier and major-generals. His wonderful vic- 
tories in Mississippi, with the desperate fighting of his division 
at Perryville, Stone River, Chickamauga, and in other battles, 
called public attention to him, so it might be of interest to the 
reader to read a description of him as he appeared to J. W. 
Miller, a Cincinnati correspondent of the Commercial. It is 
one of the best descriptions I have ever read of him, and is 
strikingly true. 


G anae SHERIDAN, from about this period, be- 


A WAR CORRESPONDENT’S RECOLLECTIONS OF GENERAL 
SHERIDAN, 


“It was in August, 1863, that I first saw General Phil Sher- 
idan. He was with his division of infantry at Stevenson, Ala., 
with quarters in the abandoned little hotel there, whose chief 
feature was a pipe through which was discharged a splendid 
spring of pure cold water, fresh from the lofty hill just east 
of the railroad village. I had recently reached the army as a 
war correspondent of the Cincinnati Commercial, and found 
at Stevenson, on Sheridan’s staff, two friends, with whom I 
was invited to mess. 

“In the course of a few days I met General Sheridan, and 
was somewhat surprised, not unfavorably by any means, at 
some of his characteristics. He weighed perhaps 130 pounds, 
had a quiet, smiling manner, and was physically the smallest 

230 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 231 


general with the army. His figure was trim, his dress neat, 
and his courtesy was gentle. I noticed that he was much alone 
in his quarters, and that his staff regarded him with some- 
thing of awe as well as admiration. I never saw him lay his 
peculiar reserve aside entirely. He had large, clear, hazel 
eyes, and a direct, penetrating look. I remember thinking 
when I first met the look that Sheridan had something of the 
eagle about him, and in my newspaper letters I said something 
equivalent to that. 

“Bragg had shortly before retreated to Chattanooga, put- 
ting the Tennessee river between himself and the army of 
Rosecrans. Stevenson is but ten miles north of the Tennes- 
see, and Rosecrans at the moment was maturing the plans for 
crossing the river, which is quite as imposing in appearance 
as the Ohio, and advancing upon Chattanooga. From Sheri- 
dan’s staff I heard many reminiscences of the work of his divi- 
sion at Stone river—of how it was faced to fight in a certain 
direction, and how, when our right wing was driven back, 
Sheridan entered the fight by facing his troops exactly the op- 
posite way from the original, deliberate formation. This 
means an enemy in the rear—a most trying situation. Sol- 
diers will face bullets from the front without flinching, but 
when the lead missiles begin to spatter from the side or the 
rear they know without seeing that something is wrong, and 
the more intelligent they are the more their equipoise is dis- 
turbed. Sheridan’s troops fought furiously at Stone river. 
A division with a less fiery leader would certainly have fallen 
back and not turned in its tracks to meet the fearful onset. 

“The army crossed the Tennessee, and Sheridan’s division 
was one of those thrown across the mountain to Alpine, Ga., 
forty-four miles southwest of Chattanooga. One day on the 
march, as Sheridan and his staff rested by the roadside, a 
Georgian struck up a conversation with the staff about con- 
stitutional guarantees and State rights. The staff were in- 
clined to be good naturedly indulgent and let the man run on, 
which emboldened him. Sheridan had not spoken; but at 
length while the native was balancing loyalty and disloyalty 
as he thought, no doubt, with nice constitutional impartiality, 
Sheridan suddenly turned upon him with blazing eyes and 
gave him a withering rebuke for splitting hairs about a man’s 


232 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


duty to his country. The Georgian was fairly scorched by 
the blast—not a swearing or abusive blast, either. I felt re- 
buked myself for having been amused, and the staff said not 
another word. Patriotism with Sheridan was a vital purpose. 
I began more and more to see his power and concentration of 
mind. Slight in figure and usually smiling, he yet impressed 
one with being able on occasion to throw around bolts of 
lightning in a manner that would take away anyone’s breath 
except his own. Sheridan was more than magnetic. He was 
electric. I can think of no better description than that he was 
electrical in his qualities. At times in his tent almost a re- 
cluse, he yet carried on the battle-field the forked lightnings, 
and his brigades swarmed forward under his lead like the 
mighty nimbus of a storm. 

“Two or three quiet days were spent at Alpine. Bragg 
was understood to be running away to Rome or Atlanta. .One 
night General Crook appeared at Alpine. Sheridan greeted 
him eagerly, and the two were in private conference for hours. © 
We wondered why these generals should be so earnest in coun- 
cil with Bragg on the run with what his deserters—clever 
emissaries—said was almost a rabble, disheartened with the 
loss of Chattanooga and discontented with the war. The 
morning, however, found us toiling back and not forward. 
We had to cross a mountain to the west, march a day, and 
cross the same mountain again to the east before our corps 
(McCook’s) could unite with the rest of Rosecrans’ army. 

“When we reached the first summit Sheridan beckoned to 
me, and we sat down on a log together. JI remembered his 
manner perfectly afterwards, though I failed to grasp its sig- 
nificance then. He pointed east over the mountains toward 
Lafayette, where great clouds of dust were rolling, and had 
been rolling for two or three days. ‘Is our cavalry over 
there?’ I asked. He laughed, and gave me a queer, penetrat- 
ing look, and said: ‘Our cavalry can’t get there.’ I did not 
guess that Bragg was turning upon us in that towering cloud 
of dust with seventy thousand men gathered suddenly in part 
from the east and southwest to fall upon the over-confident 
Rosecrans and the over-confident nation, too, let it be con- 
fessed. Sheridan did not enlighten me except to say, “There 
will be tremendous work.’ He looked at me hard again, and 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 233 


turned away disappointed that I had not yet discovered what 
was in the air. 

“We marched day and night over mountains, down a long 
valley, through passes and coves, and barely reached Rose- 
crans in time to-participate in the first day’s battle at Chick- 
amauga. I saw Sheridan lead one of his brigades (Laibold’s) 
under fire across a cleared field, and place it exactly where he 
wanted it. He came galloping back on his famous black 
horse (I never saw him on any other) with hat off, sword 
flashing, and face glowing with the magnificent passion of the 
battle-field. He passed me, then turned in his stirrups, and 
said, ‘We're driving them, d—n them.’ In two or three min- 
utes he came in view again with another brigade, or regiment, 
I could not tell which, on account of the forest growth to the 
right. On plunged the black horse, and the infantry plunged 
after it, and it seems strange now that the long column kept 
up with the horse. It is thus that Sheridan swept with his 
infantry to the front lines of the fight. They went with an 
impetus that left no time for wavering, no time for seeing who 
fell by the way, no time for thought, no time for anything 
except to obey the common impulse responsive to the call of 
manhood and the inspiration of a noble cause. 

“After nightfall I conversed with Sheridan a short time 
at the front. The next morning I was further to the left. 
One of the first men I saw in the early light was Rosecrans. 
He was mounted, his horse moving at a slow walk. He had 
an unlighted cigar in his mouth. His staff rode behind in sin- 
gle file, for the road was scarcely more than a path in the 
woods. Rosecrans’ air was that of dejection, but his mind 
was apparently fixed and preoccupied. The crisis demanded 
the intense action of every faculty of the man in command of 
this devoted army, and here was its chief gliding silently along 
in a daze. It must be remembered that for seven or eight 
days, ever since Rosecrans comprehended the terrible move 
of the enemy, he had been almost absolutely without sleep or 
rest. He was probably an exhausted man that morning. 
There must come a time when the brain of any man so over- 
taxed will stop working. In a few moments I met General 
Lytle, who was riding alone, to consult with a superior officer 
—perhaps to report that our right needed some changes of 


234 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


position. No changes were made, and three hours later Lytle 
fell, defending the position as best he could. His way of de- 
fending was to advance. 

“The day after the battle ended, in the evening, I went to 
the front again.. The front then was but a short ride from 
the heart of Chattanooga. Sheridan and his division, with 
the rest of the army, were behind newly constructed breast- 
works—mostly of rails. He gave a cheerful greeting, and 
that was the last time I grasped his hand in the field. Two 
months later I was not surprised to hear that Sheridan’s bri- 
gades were among the first to reach the crest of Missionary 
Ridge. He would have been ready to advance that night if 
the word had been given. 

“Sheridan’s mind was very quick and his execution was 
instantaneous. Few soldiers have been his equal in this re- 
spect. Once he said to a colonel of the immature kind who 
asked him for more definite instructions: ‘Go in, sir, and 
get some of your men killed.’ He never had occasion to com- 
plain of that colonel again. He was as ready to fight as his 
chief. Sheridan realized that war is rough work, and that 
generalship is a game of keen wit and of the promptest action. 
He always fought, if possible; in case of doubt he fought. 
He risked his own life freely in every crisis on the field. Over 
men he asserted the natural authority of a deeper perception 
and a more daring spirit. Yet of soldiers I have met he was 
one of the mildest and pleasantest. 

“A short time after I first met Sheridan I asked some one 
who he was. The reply was: ‘“W-e-l-l, he belongs to the 
regular army. When the war broke out he was a lieutenant 
in Oregon.’ Is it not a marvelous proof of the excellence of 
this young Government that the right man is found quickly, 
even if search must be made beside the Oregon that hears no 
sound save its own dashing? How quickly Lincoln was 
found, and Grant and Sheridan! When a great soldier for 
the field is needed again it will be even easier to bring him to 
light, for the country has Sheridan’s example as part of its 
treasure and part of its strength.” 

Here is another account of Sheridan by S. W. Lester: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 235 


HOW SHERIDAN WON HIS STAR. 


History holds no brighter page than that which records 
the career of Philip Henry Sheridan, but few there are who 
know how large a part chance played in shaping that career. 
I was an eyewitness of some of the events of which I write, 
and the rest of the story I had in after years from the gener- 
al’s own lips. Sheridan was graduated from West Point in’ 
1853, and during the following eight years was in almost con- 
tinuous service at posts beyond the limits of civilization. This 
fact prohibited him from forming intimate relations with men 
in civil life able to aid his promotion, nor did he become asso- 
ciated on the frontier with any officers who then or after- 
wards held high rank, and who could have assisted a deserving 
comrade by affording him opportunity for distinction. His 
friends and kinsmen in Ohio were of humble station and had 
no power to brighten his prospects. Thus, at the outbreak of 
the Civil War, there were few officers in the army whose 
chances of obtaining high command were so slight as those 
of the friendless lieutenant of foot then occupying a lonely post 
in Oregon. 

Indeed, it was not until late in 1861 that Sheridan’s first 
opportunity came to him. He was promoted to be captain in 
the Thirteenth Infantry, a new regular regiment of which 
William T. Sherman had been made colonel, and joined his 
new command at Jefferson Barracks, just below St. Louis, in 
November. But he was not to have the field service for which 
he was chafing, without another period of weary waiting. In- 
stead, he was assigned to special duty in the supply depart- 
ment, and, after a brief period of service on the staff of Gen- 
eral Samuel R. Curtis, was sent into Illinois and Wisconsin to 
purchase horses. In the meantime the battle of Shiloh was 
fought, and General Henry W. Halleck, leaving St. Louis, 
assumed command in person of the combined armies operating 
against the Confederate stronghold at Corinth. These events 
made Sheridan doubly eager to get near the field of active 
operations, and he found an excuse to return to St. Louis from 
Chicago, where he was buying horses, hoping that something 
would happen to enable him to get to the front. Colonel 
George Thom, who was then chief topographical engineer on 


236 GENERAL PHIL H, SHERIDAN 


General Halleck’s staff, had remained in St. Louis to finish 
some business, but was on the eve of following his chief to 
Tennessee, when he fell in with Captain Sheridan on the 
street. Sheridan informed Thom, whom he had known very 
well in Oregon, of his desire for active service. 

“Well,” said Thom, “I am going up the Tennessee to head- 
quarters at once; come along with me, and I will find work 
for you until something better turns up.” 

Thereupon, Thom called on Colonel John C. Kelton, whom — 
General Hallack had left in charge of headquarters at St. 
Louis, and asked him to issue an order to Sheridan to report 
to General Halleck at Pittsburg Landing. Kelton did not 
want to assume the responsibility of ordering Sheridan for- 
ward, but Thom agreed to shoulder whatever blame followed, 
assuring Kelton that he wanted Sheridan on his own work in 
Tennessee, and would ask General Halleck to so assign him. 
Upon that understanding Kelton reluctantly issued the order 
asked for, and Sheridan, on reporting to General Hallack at 
Pittsburg Landing, was assigned to duty under Thom, who 
put him to work corduroying roads and getting the trains up 
from the landing. It was rough, hard work. “But,” Sher- 
idan tells us in his “‘Memoirs,” “it was near the field of active 
operations, and I determined to do the best I could at it till 
the opportunity for something better might arise.’”’ Soon he 
was made commissary and quartermaster at headquarters, 
where his work attracted the favorable attention of General 
Halleck; and then came the opportunity for something better 
that was to make him one of the famous captains of modern 
times. 

While General Halleck was spading his way toward Cor- 
inth, Governor Austin Blair of Michigan arrived to look over 
the troops which he had sent into the field. About this time, 
also, Gordon Granger, who had been colonel of the Second 
Michigan Cavalry, was made a brigadier general. The men 
of the Second, under his discipline, had become magnificent 
troopers. When he was promoted and the lieutenant-colonel 
assumed command, the regiment soon showed the need of a 
master at its head. Who was to become its colonel was a 
matter of serious consideration among the line officers. Most 
of them preferred a regular soldier, with all his harshness and 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 237 


crotchets, to a volunteer without any experience. Governor 
Blair was persuaded to take the same view of the matter when 
he visited Pittsburg Landing, and it was finally decided that 
General Hallack should be asked to name a good man for the 
post. It was my pleasure and honor to be a bugler in the 
Second Michigan Cavalry, and, being on duty at headquar- 
ters, I was thus a silent but keenly interested witness to the 
interview between General Hallack and Governor Blair. 
When the governor, who was accompanied by some of the 
officers of the regiment, had made known his errand, General 
Halleck turned to General Ulysses S. Grant, who chanced to 
be present, and asked: ‘How would Captain Sheridan do?” 

“He is just the man for them,” was General Grant’s reply. 

“Convey my compliments to Captain Sheridan,” said Gen- 
eral Halleck, turning to an orderly, “and tell him that I wish 
to see him at once.” 

A few minutes later a short, nervous man or thirty or 
thereabouts appeared upon the scene, and, having saluted Gen- 
erals Halleck and Grant, was introduced to Governor Blair 
as Captain Sheridan. 

“Captain,” said the governor, “these gentlemen you see 
with me are officers of the Second Michigan Cavalry. Gen- 
eral Granger, as you probably know, has been their colonel, 
and they have got along so well that, now that he has left 
them, they want another educated soldier in his place. Gen- 
eral Halleck and General Grant here have been good enough 
to recommend you for the post, and it is yours.” 

Sheridan’s eyes kindled at this unexpected news, and a 
rosy glow came into his face. 

“Governor,” said he, “I thank you for the honor you have 
conferred upon me, and promise you that, while I am _ its 
colonel, the guidons of the Second Michigan shall never trail 
in the dust.” 

A jolly time followed at General Halleck’s headquarters, 
and one officer more enthusiastic than the rest, as he put his 
glass to his lips, said: ‘“Here’s to Phil, and here is to the 
star he will soon win.” 

“No, gentlemen,” Sheridan retorted, “my ambition is sat- 
isfied. I am now a colonel of cavalry, and that is all the rank 
I desire or expect.” 


238 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


That was May 26, 1862. The next day Sheridan joined 
his regiment, and a week later was given command of a cav- 
alry brigade with headquarters at Booneville, Mississippi. His 


future was then in his own hands, and he took good care of 
it, showing in his first independent battle that strength of re- 
source in the heat of a contest of which he was master. That 
battle was fought under conditions as exacting as were ever 
imposed upon a soldier. The entire force under his command 
numbered less than eight hundred men when, on July 1, 1862, 
he was attacked by four thousand five hundred mounted 
Confederates under Chalmers. After a brave resistance, he 
fell back to “an advantageous position on the edge of a 
swamp,” where he could hold his assailants at bay. Finding, 
however, that the enemy was passing around his left and 
threatening his camp, he determined to make a bold dash on 
the right and convert the defense into an offensive movement. 
Selecting four of his best saber companies, he sent them sev- 
eral miles around the enemy’s left to attack in rear and flank, 
while he was to make a simultaneous charge in front. The 
plan worked admirably. The four companies appeared sud- 
denly in the enemy’s rear, not having been seen till near 
enough to fire their carbines; and, having emptied these, they . 
charged with drawn sabers on the astonished enemy, who took 
them for the advanced guard of a much larger force. Before 
the enemy could recover from the confusion of this attack, 
they were fiercely charged by Sheridan with his remaining 
handful of men, and, utterly routed, they fled from the field.” 

This brilliant affair, in which two small regiments de- 
feated nine, won for Colonel Sheridan the admiration and re- 
spect of his superiors, along with his first star, his commission 
as a brigadier general dating from the battle of Booneville. 
He was not commissioned colonel of the Second Michigan 
until after the war. AQ little more than four months from the 
day when, as an infantry captain, he began corduroying roads 
at Pittsburg Landing, Sheridan was in command of a division 
of five thousand men which he led into the bates of Perry- 
ville. The rest is history. 

Several months passed before I could secure the services 


of a suitable person to care for my parents. When this was 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 239 


accomplished the same unrest seized me that I had experienced 
in the breaking out of the war. Then, with the assistance of 
James T. McMahon and William Stalter, another company 
was recruited. This was for short service. 

When Grant was general-in-chief he put Sheridan in 
charge of the Eastern cavalry. This was in April, 1864. In 
his “Memoirs” Grant thus relates the conversation that led 
to the change: 

“In one of my earliest interviews with the President I 
expressed my dissatisfaction with the little that had been ac- 
complished by the cavalry so far in the war, and the belief 
that it was capable of doing much if under a competent leader. 
I said I wanted the very best man that could be had. Halleck 
was present and spoke up, saying: ‘How would Sheridan 
do?’ I replied, “The very man I want.’ And the President 
said I could have anyone I wanted. Sheridan was telegraphed 
for that day.” 

On the 24th of March, 1864, he received the telegram re- 
quiring him to report to Washington immediately, but was not 
informed as to the purpose or object of the order. He had 
forebodings that it meant separation from his division, and 
this was unpleasant, as he loved his Western division, espe- 
cially the Illinois troops, who reciprocated the warm feeling. 

In his “Memoirs” he thus regretfully speaks of this sep- 
aration : 


“A parting from such friends was indeed to be regretted. 
They had never given me any trouble, nor done anything that 
could bring aught but honor to themselves. I had confidence 
in them, and I believe they had in me. They were ever steady, 
whether in victory or in misfortune, and as I tried always to 
be with them, to put them into the hottest fire if good could 
be gained, or save them from unnecessary loss, as occasion re- 
quired, they amply repaid all my care and anxiety, cour- 
ageously and readily meeting all demands in every emergency 
that arose. 


240 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


“In Kentucky, nearly two years before, my lot had been 
cast with about half of the twenty-five regiments of infantry 
that I was just leaving, the rest joining me after Chicka- 
mauga. It was practically a new arm of the service to me, 
for although I was an infantry officer, yet the only large com- 
mand which up to that time I had controlled was composed 
of cavalry, and most of my experience had been gained in this 
arm of the service. I had to study hard to be able to master 
all the needs of such a force, to feed and clothe it and guard 
all its interests. When undertaking these responsibilities I 
felt that if I met them faithfully, recompense would surely 
come through the hearty response that soldiers always make 
to conscientious exertion on the part of their superiors, and 
not only that more could be gained in that way than from 
the use of any species of influence, but that the reward would 
be quicker. Therefore I always tried to look after their com- 
fort personally; selected their camps, and provided abundantly 
for their subsistence, and the road they opened for me shows 
that my work was not in vain. I regretted deeply to have to 
leave such soldiers and felt that they were sorry I was going, 
and even now I could not, if I would, retain other than the 
warmest sentiments of esteem and the tenderest affection for 
the officers and men of ‘Sheridan’s Division, Army of the 
Cumberland.” 


It was not until he had had an interview with General 
Thomas, at Chattanooga, on his way to Washington, that he 
knew what was intended for him on his arrivel East. Learn- 
ing the facts, he had Captain James H. Forsyth detailed from 
the 18th regulars to accompany him and be his chief of staff. 

When General Sheridan made this change from West to 
East, he started with four horses, which he sent by the Ohio 
river, two of them, a black mare and a chestnut horse, to be 
left at Parkersburg, W. Va., to be sent home to his father at 
our village. The famous black horse and grey pacer met him 
on the Potomac. . 

General Sheridan did not remain in Washington long. On 
the 5th of April he was at Brandy Station, and the next day 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 241 


issued orders assuming command. In his “Memoirs” he says 
the corps presented a fair appearance as to health and equip- 
ment, but the horses were worn out. The first thing he did 
was to take measures to recruit them, for no one knew better 
than he that cavalry was nothing without good horses. When 
he had provided for this defect, a most serious trouble arose. 
He communicated his plans to General Meade, who was then 
in command of the Army of the Potomac. A part of his plan 
was that the cavalry should be massed and kept concentrated ; 
that an aggressive policy of fighting the enemy’s cavalry 
should be adopted; that if our cavalry was kept together and 
not.so much imposed upon by picket duty and the toilsome 
work of guarding our communications, it would always be 
in condition to fight and break up the enemy’s communica- 
tions. 

These plans submitted to General Meade were innovations 
that did not meet with his approval. He wanted to know of 
General Sheridan what would protect our transportations and 
artillery reserves and secure our flanks from attack. Sher- 
idan’s reply was that if he would permit him to mass his ten 
thousand troops he would make it so hot for the enemy that 
they would not have time to attack our flanks and rear, and 
the infantry would be able to take care of their own front. 

He told General Meade he intended to defeat the Confed- 
erate cavalry in general combat and destroy Lee’s communi- 
cations, but he failed to convince him of the wisdom of his 
plan, and his efforts to carry them out were hampered and 
delayed, causing much bad feeling, with serious loss and 
trouble. 

The conversation General Sheridan had with Senator 
Plumb shows how Sheridan was not appreciated, and the acri- 
mony between him and his commander, 


242 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


“Sheridan came East when the cavalry of the Army of the 
Potomac was not in good condition, and Grant gave him the 
task of reorganizing it and raising its efficiency. He had 
worked away some time when Meade sent him over the Rap- 
pahannock on a reconnoissance. Sheridan'came back, and in 
making his verbal report alluded to a brush he had with Stu- 
art’s Cavalry. ‘Never mind Stuart,’ said Meade, interrupting. 
He will do about as he pleases anyhow. Go on and tell me 
what you discovered about Lee’s forces.’ 

“That made Sheridan mad, and he retorted, ‘Damn Stuart; 
I can thrash hell out of him any day.’ . Those were times, you 
know, when men’s utterances, like their deeds, were not fash- 
ioned upon the models of these days of peace. Well, Meade 
repeated the remark to Grant, who queried, ‘Why didn’t you 
tell him to do it?’ 

“Not long after, sure enough, Sheridan got an order to 
cross the river, engage Stuart, and clean him out. ‘I knew I 
could whip him,’ said Sheridan, ‘if I could only get him where 
he could not fall back on Lee’s infantry. So I thought the 
matter over, and, to draw him on started straight for Rich- 
mond. We moved, and Stuart dogged us right at our heels. 
We kept on a second day straight for Richmond, and the next 
morning found Stuart in front of us, just where we wanted 
him. He had marched all night and got around us. Then I 
rode him down. I smashed his command and broke up his 
divisions and regiments and brigades, and the poor fellow him- 
self was killed there. Right there, Senator, I resisted the 
greatest temptation of my life. There lay Richmond before 
us, and there was nothing to keep us from going in. It would 
have cost five or six hundred lives, and I could not have held 
the place, of course. But I knew the moment it was learned 
in the North that a Union army was in Richmond then every 
bell would ring and I should have been the hero of the hour. 
I could have gone in and burned and killed right and left. But 
I had learned this thing, that our men knew what they were 
about. I had seen them come out of a fight in which only a 
handful were killed, discontented, mad clear through, because 
they knew an opportunity had been lost, or a sacrifice, small 
as it was, had been needlessly made; and I had seen them come 
out good natured, enthusiastic, and spoiling for more, when 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 243 


they had left the ground so thickly covered with dead that you 
could have crossed portions of the field on the bodies alone. 
They realized that notwithstanding the terrible sacrifice the 
object gained had been worth it. They would have followed 
me, but they would have known as well as I that the sacrifice 
was for no permanent advantage. 


In speaking of this battle in Martin Scott’s store in Somer- 
set, Ohio, a few years after the war, General Sheridan told me 
the following incident : 

“T was working to accomplish several objects in order to 
successfully carry out the principal one; first, to mystify Stuart 
as to my intentions and thereby cause him to ride his horses 
down while I was doing all I could to keep mine fresh and 
strong; second, to get him as far as I could from their in- 
fantry. The first thing he did was to throw himself in my 
rear to prevent my escape (here Phil laughed a little) and 
destroy me. There was just where I wanted him, for my rear 
guard, under Davis, without muclf trouble selecting his own 
ground to fight, always had the advantage, and that permitted 
the main column to leisurely pursue its way to Richmond. 
When Stuart saw this, and how near we had approached to 
Richmond, he became alarmed, fearing we might enter the city 
and he be held responsible by the authorities. Then he made 
a wide detour to get ahead of me, riding night and day, just 
what I wanted him to do. I knew he was now riding his men 
and horses down. One morning when I was within six or 
seven miles of Richmond I found him in front of me at the 
Yellow Tavern. As soon as it was known he was there, the at- 
tack was begun by Merritt, who gained some advantage; then 
I rapidly brought up Wilson and Gregg. Then Custer made 
a splendid mounted charge, which killed Stuart and drove his 
brave fighters from the field. Yes, this battle was a death- 


' BAA GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


blow to their heretofore invincible cavalry. They never re- 
covered from it. They had a battery so located that it was 
doing us great damage. I told Custer to take that battery, and 
in that charge General Stuart met his death. It was a quarrel 
I had had with Meade that instigated that raid around Rich- 
mond and the fight at the Yellow Tavern. During this quarrel 
I told Meade that if he would let me alone and not interfere 
with my movements I could whip Stuart. Then he went to 
General Grant’s headquarters and repeated that part of my 
conversation. General Grant said in reply, ‘If Sheridan said 
that, let him go and do it.’ The next day I received the order 
to make the raid that forever crippled the fine Southern cav- 
alry and killed its splendid leader.” 

Last year, as I was a passenger on a Grand Trunk train, a 
one-armed soldier came aboard at Evergreen Park (Chicago) 
and took his seat beside me. We got into conversation, in 
which he told me he had served in the First Michigan cavalry. 

“T was under Sheridan in the East. The first time I saw 
him I was enraged at him. He had just arrived from the 
West to take command of our cavalry division and was then 
reviewing us. As he rode down our front I heard him make 
this remark, and many of our boys heard it: ‘I want to see 
a dead cavalry man; they tell me there never was one seen 
down here.’ 

“T tell you, sir, that slur made us hot. More than one felt 
for his pistol, and I am sure, had it been dark, he would have 
been shot. As he came back to the head of our regiment again 
to where our colonel was, he said to him in an undertone: “I 
think I made your boys angry; but they will know me better 
in the future.’ 

“Oh, how we hated that man until we got to fighting with 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 245 


him and learned he was more careful of our comfort and lives 
than he was of his own. Yes, sir; we would have gone to the 
infernal regions with him had he said, ‘Come on, First Michi- 
gan.’ ”’ 

It was the 4th of May, 1864, when General Sheridan started 
on the Yellow Tavern raid with his ten thousand horses. What 
a magnificent scene it was! By this time he had been with his 
command sufficiently long to bring the cavalry to the highest 
degree of efficiency; if they had not been, he would not have 
moved. Those ten thousand glittering sabres, flashing in the 
morning sun, presented a scene in the “pomp and circum- 
stance” of war that is not often witnessed. 

But there was another scene, with nothing inspiring in ‘its 
appearance, transpiring on this same day in the village of Som- 
erset, Ohio. As I was drilling my company in the little square, 
the hackdriver, as he drove to the postoffice with mail from 
the nearest railroad station, halted his horses and called me 
to his side, handing me a note from John L. Sheridan, who 
was then attending court: “Enter my name as a member of 
your company; when court adjourns I will sign the roll.’’ This 
brother did not enlist at the opening of hostilities because of 
defective eyesight. On his return the roll was presented and 
signed. 

To one who did not know the family, it might be a mat- 
ter of some surprise that the brother of the most brilliant 
major-general in our army would ignore the influence of that 
brother who could so easily have secured him a commission, 
and volunteer as a private, but to me it was no surprise, as 
there was not a selfish ambition in the Sheridan family. 

I was pleased to get this new recruit, for more reasons than 
one. Members were coming in very slowly, for it was a dark 


246 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


hour for the country, the spring of 1864. For still another 
reason was I pleased; he was the brightest and best educated 
of the three brothers, a promising lawyer, brainy and culti- 
vated. But most of all was I pleased because of the charm of 
his conversation. In this line, all the talent of the family 
seemed to be concentrated in John. We never tired of listen- 
ing to him; he was not too talkative, nor was there any effort 
to be eloquent, or a desire to shine, but he had an easy fluency 
and wit that were always charming. With a style entirely un- 
affected, and a wonderful memory which made him one of the 
best story tellers I ever heard, he had the gift of investing the 
simplest incident with interest. In nearly all respects he was 
the opposite of his distinguished brother, for John could al- 
ways tell anything better than he could do it, while Phil could 
always do anything better than he could tell it. 

None of the family was a money maker or saver. John 
was especially lacking in this way, a laggard in the race for 
wealth, nor could he make anything out of excellent oppor- 
tunities. It is true, he loved to take life easily, but his becom- 
ing a private in infantry, the humblest and hardest position in 
the army, seems to have been a departure. There was no ease 
in that position during the war, and he knew it. He would 
have done the same, however, had his brother been general- 
in-chief, or President. He seemed to think he had no claims 
superior to the most ignorant and obscure. His intelligence 
would have suggested him for appointment to some of the 
non-commissioned offices in my company, but I could not con- 
sistently offer him one for the reason that in this second com- 
pany I had members who had seen service, and a few had 
served with me before. I mentioned this fact to him on one 
occasion as a reason for not offering him an appointment, to 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 247 


which he replied: “I want to be only a private; I do not ex- 
pect an appointment. It would be neither reasonable nor proper 
to appoint me over men who have seen service.” 

This family presented a remarkable case, probably without 
a parallel in history. Each class of the Army of the Shenan- 
doah was represented by a Sheridan—John as a private, Cap- 
tain M. V. as a staff officer, General Phil of the field, com- 
manding the department. 

As already stated, John was superior to his brothers men- 
tally, and physically he was also their superior, being taller, 
better featured, with better proportions. Nature had been 
gracious, but Fortune seldom smiled on him. He was blessed 
in one respect, at least, with a good wife. “A woman that 
looketh well to the ways of her household,” with two bright 
daughters. 

When the company was finally organized, I could only in- 
vite our brilliant friend to make my tent his quarters, and in 
this I was purely selfish, as I wanted his company and to hear 
his interesting stories and improve my education. 

In this connection, at the organization of the regiment an 
interesting incident occurred that was never known to many 
in the regiment. The question of field officers was agreed upon 
before we started for the front, except the office of major, 
which was vacant for some time. The colonel wrote to Gov- 
ernor Brough that John L. Sheridan, a brother of General 
Phil Sheridan, was a private in his regiment, and he would be 
pleased to have him appointed major. The Governor imme- 
iately responded, enclosing the major’s commission to Private 
John L. Sheridan. : 

At this time there was difficulty with some of the com- 
panies not having their full quota, therefore being ineligible 


248 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


for mustering in. My company was five men short, other 
companies even more. At this juncture Captain Henry Har- 
baugh came to the colonel and proposed to disband his com- 
pany to fill the ranks of those that were short, if he could be 
commissioned major. No one but the colonel knew that the 
commission had arrived for Sheridan. This placed matters 
in a dilemma which brought about a consultation with the 
Governor, who solved the difficulty by suppressing the Sheri- 
dan commission and having Harbaugh appointed. It was sev- 
eral months before I was aware of this incident, and when I 
related it to Sheridan he betrayed no annoyance, saying: 
“Harbaugh is a good, brave officer who has seen service, there- 
fore he had better claims than I.” In no other than an Ameri- 
can volunteer army, an army composed of material that fights 
- for principle alone, could such unselfish patriotism be found. 

On the 5th day of May, 1864, James F. McMahon and 
William Stalter, both good officers, were elected first and sec- 
ond lieutenants of my company. McMahon being a wag, did 
much to relieve the tedium of camp life. He was also very 
valuable as a clerical officer, keeping the reports of the com- 
pany in good order. On the Ist of June we were in Zanesville, 
' waiting for the mustering officer. Here we remained a week 
on this and other business. The mustering officer came about 
the roth. . 

It was an interesting coincidence that on the day John L. 
Sheridan was lifting his hand to take the oath as a private, 
gallant Phil was thundering at the gates of Richmond with his 
ten thousand cavalry, spreading dismay and consternation in 
the heart of the Confederacy, crushing the flower of its cavalry 
and slaying its brilliant commander. 

The companies on the right wing of the regiment were 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 249 


mustered the day before those on the left. The night of the 
first day’s inspection and mustering, one of my youngest and 
most delicate-looking boys, about sixteen years old, came to 
me looking and acting disheartened. The expression on his 
pretty face was so doleful that I thought he was getting home- 
sick and would ask me to send him back, for this was the last 
day ; tomorrow, when we would take the oath, it would be too 
late. I had not a man to spare to make the minimum num- 
ber, so I was ill-humored at the thought of losing one, for 
then they would not accept my company. When I looked at 
his sad young face I was sure it was home-sickness, and if 
so, I knew it would be useless to appeal to his manhood or 
patriotism, for nothing that is said or done can cure that dis- 
ease. He sat down, saying: 

“Captain, I want to speak to you!” 

Rather impatiently I said, “Go on!” 

He replied: “Today I followed up that mustering officer 
as he mustered in the right wing. I noticed that he rejected 
stronger and older looking boys than I; I am fearful that he 
will reject me. It will be so mortifying to be sent home after 
getting this far. The neighbors will say I did not want to 
go; the girls will laugh at me and the boys will jeer me. I 
shall be ashamed to leave the house. Is there anything that 
can be done to help me in this trouble?” 

I felt much relieved that he did not want to leave, for I 
already had many discouragements and cares from other 
causes, I admired his bravery and nerve and could so illy 
lose a man that I was determined to do all I could to retain 
him. I said: 

“When the company forms for inspection take the rear 
rank. You will not be quite so conspicuous. Of course, that 


250 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


may not save you, as the ranks will be opened. The officer 
will go between the ranks. I will be at his side when he comes 
to you; I will then do all that is possible to try and divert his — 
attention.” 

The boy’s eyes brightened, and with a smiling face he 
thanked me. 

The next forenoon we were prepared for inspection. I saw 
Whitmer (that was his name) in the rear rank, as I had sug- 
gested, but he was looking unusually pale from nervousness 
and excitement, fearing rejection. His look discouraged me, 
you may be sure. The front rank was accepted, then the ranks 
were opened, the better to examine the rear. All went well 
until he came to the object of my solicitude. Halting in front 
of Whitmer and looking him in the face, the officer said: 

“Young man, you are not old enough.” 

“Ves, I am.” 

“You are not eighteen; we cannot take you.” 

“T am over eighteen,” was the answer in a good strong 
voice. 

“That is impossible from your looks.” 

“But I am, all the same, and I want to go. I have three 
brothers in the service.” 

“Are you willing to swear you are eighteen ?” 

Sl am!’ 

This was the critical moment. I knew the next would be 
the oath administered. 

Turning to the mustering officer, a second lieutenant, 
Jeb. Small-1 said: 

“Did you hear the latest dispatches this morning from the 
Fast ?” 

He said he had not. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 251 


“Sheridan, in making a raid around Richmond, had a ter- 
rible fight with the Confederate cavalry under Stuart, in which 
our loss was heavy, the 1st U. S. Cavalry losing 30 per cent 
of their men and horses; the officers being nearly all killed. It 
was a savage battle.” 

I had noticed that this officer when signing papers the day 
before had signed as a lieutenant in the rst U. S. Cavalry, and 
I knew it was in the East under Sheridan; but as to the battle 
and dispatches, that was all imaginary on my part, a fairy 
tale to divert his attention from Randolph Whitmer. And 
it succeeded admirably, as he was so shocked to hear of the 
great loss in his regiment that he paid no more attention to 
Whitmer nor the two others who were yet to be inspected. 

So, to my great relief, my company was full and accepted 
I consoled myself that the story I told was not the worst I 
had ever invented, and as a quietus to my conscience, argued 
that I was choosing the lesser evil, and, besides, “everything 
is fair in love and war.” I knew also that the mustering officer 
and I would not meet again, for he hurried my company and 
the next through in order to make the train for Columbus, 
which he had barely time to do. 

All had gone satisfactorily with Whitmer and I, but I could 
not but think of the boy and wonder if he would have per- 
jured himself as to his correct age. That afternoon I met 
him ; his face beamed with joy and was flushed with smiles, as 
he said: 

“We got through all right, and I’m so glad.” 

“Yes; but I am curious to know as to your swearing that 
you are eighteen years old when you know you are not seven- 
teen; would you have sworn to that?” 


252 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


“No, never! But I stuck to it as long as I could. I would 
not have sworn to it, for that would have been a lie.” 

“But you said you were eighteen.” 

“Yes, I did; I said I was eighteen; but I meant eighteen 
months and over. I did not say years, nor did the officer say 
anything about years. He only asked me if I were eighteen.” 

I was pleased to hear that he would not have perjured 
himself even to become a soldier. J did not want to think a 
face so innocent looking could have concealed a perjurer. 

On this day a boy about twelve years old came to me to 
hire as a servant, to which privilege captains are entitled. He 
had a good, honest face and was well built. 

“Will your parents consent to your going?’ I asked. 

“I have none; they are both dead. I have no relatives 
that I know of excepting my uncle; we have been living to- 
gether, but I am getting tired of that. He often licks me when 
business ain’t good and says I don’t try.” 

“What is your business and where is your home?” 

“T sell papers and black shoes, most anything I can get 
to do. We live in Toledo. The old man doesn’t want me to 
leave, so I slipped off and came down here on a coal train.” 

I tried to discourage him by saying there was danger and 
many hardships. 

“Try me, captain; I am used to hardships.” 

We made a bargain after I had explained his duties. An- 
other boy came with him and hired to another captain. Of 
the two I drew the prize. He proved faithful and brave, 
with wonderful endurance. How he behaved throughout the 
trying ordeals to which he was submitted on long marches 
would have been admirable in a much older and stronger boy. 
I was proud of his conduct, especially his fortitude, and his 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 253 


bravery was beyond a doubt. He never hesitated to go where 
the regiment went, and did all he could for me in the faithful 
discharge of his duties. 

I would have trusted this boy to have planned a battle 
sooner than some of our generals. He was always cool, never 
disconcerted or excited. When Early was driving us out of 
the valley we attempted to make a stand at Martinsburg. 
Standing by my side observing the disposition of our lines, 
he pointed to an eminence and said: 

“Why don’t that battery go to that hill? It would be 
much better. I would go over and point it out to the capain, 
but he would only curse me and maybe kick me. I see the 
dust of the coming rebels; the dust and smoke of the battle 
will be in our favor, the wind is coming from the west. Ain’t | 
it funny, we will have to fight on the Fourth of July! Wouldn’t 
you rather be at home shooting firecrackers today than shoot- 
ing rebels and they shooting at you? I would, I know.” 

He was a born tactician and engineer. Never but once or 
twice did I hear a murmur of impatience or see a sign of fa- 
tigue. It was on this retreat, when we forded the Potomac 
during the night. The artillery and wagons had taken the 
main ford, therefore the infantry was forced to cross at a diffi- 
cult crossing with many boulders and rocks in the channel. 

We had marched since sunrise, and of course “Billy” was 
tired and sleepy. He stumbled over the rocks. When this oc- 
curred the second time, I took his hand, supporting him in his 
falls until we reached the Maryland shore. We continued the 
march, after a few hours’ sleep on a sandy bank, until we 
reached Maryland Heights at midnight. Going up the mount- 
ain he begged me to let him drop out of the column to sleep. 
I can yet hear those pathetic appeals. 


254 GENERAL PuHit H. SHERIDAN 


“Oh, Captain, please let me stop; I will be sure to find you 
in the morning.” 

From that on until we again halted I kept his hand in mine, 
fearing to grant his pitiful request, for there was great danger 
that he might be trampled to death by the stream of artillery 
and cavalry that were following. 

The moment we halted he threw himself on the ground and 
the next instant was snoring. I unbuckled his blanket and 
covered the little fellow, and that sleep was so sound that he 
knew nothing of the panic that followed an hour later, nor 
did his eyes open until the next day at noon. He remained 
with me until our return to Zanesville to be mustered out. 

The day before this occurred he came to me and said there 
was a brakeman on a freight train down at the depot whom he 
knew, and who told him the train would start for Toledo that 
evening. 

“Can I go?” he asked. 

I said, “No, not yet; until you are paid the balance I still 
owe you. I cannot get that until we are paid tomorrow.” 

“Oh, never mind about that. If you have a dollar it will 
do for today. I will come to Somerset for the balance.” 

I gave him the dollar. In the hurry and confusion that 
attends making out payrolls for a company I did not miss my 
boy or even think of him for a day or two. One of my men 
said they saw him hurrying toward the station, saying as he 
passed : : 

“Good-bye, Cooper! Tell the captain good-bye for me. The 
train will soon start. Tell him I’m coming down to see him 
soon where he lives.” 

It has been a mystery to me these long years why my boy 
did not redeem his promise to come and see me, or at least 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 255 


write for his pay. I could account for it in this way only: 
The second or third day after we left I read of a railroad acci- 
dent on the line by which he returned home. One of the col- 
liding trains was a freight. In one of the box cars, which was 
badly splintered, were found the dead bodies of a tramp and 
a boy, with a soldier cap and blouse, neither with anything on 
his person to identify him. When I read this, I had a sad 
presentiment that the soldier-boy was my “Billy.” Each year 
strengthens that opinion, as he was so true and faithful that I 
am sure he would have discharged his promise to visit me, 
even had it required a walk of the entire distance. 

That was the last I ever heard of him. I still owe that little 
fellow a part of his hire. I hope we may once more meet that 
I may discharge that obligation, for if there ever was a boy 
who richly deserved his pay in full it was “Billy.” That was 
the only name I ever knew for him. 

We had been mustered in on the 12th day of May. That 
night we were marched to a train of freight cars which was 
headed east. This looked as if we would be sent to Virginia, 
which was not in accordance with our hopes, for our Eastern 
armies had been very unfortunate, meeting many defeats. We 
had hoped to be sent to the Army of the Cumberland, south, 
which had up to this time never met with defeat; besides, a 
number of us had already served in that army. 

The next night, during a heavy rain, we were ordered out, 
finding ourselves, when sufficiently awake to inquire, at his- 
toric Harpers Ferry, Va. We thought it strange that we had 
not been allowed to remain under shelter until the storm was 
over. I remember we marched through the town, which we 
could discern from the lights in the houses. When they dis- 
appeared we commenced going up, up, and up until we gained 


250 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


the summit of Bolivar Heights, where we bivouacked until 
morning. My boy (already referred to) as he marched by 
my side through the drenching rain, said: “I wonder if this 
isn’t our baptism?” 

“What do you know of baptism?” I inquired. 

“Why, my mother told me just before she died that I was 
baptized with water.” 

That day we received our tents. It was our first day on 
hostile soil. As the sun came up, the rain ceased and was fol- 
lowed by a charming day. All day the boys sat around, look- 
ing at the romantic scenery that surrounded us. Very few of 
them had seen mountains before. Across the Potomac, almost 
in front of us, was Maryland Heights, towering above the 
river two thousand feet. To our right, looking north, was 
Loudon Heights, with its rocky summit, not so high, but with 
more rugged features. We remained in this camp five days, 
enjoying the picturesque views, when we were ordered to 
break camp and hurriedly marched to the station to be taken 
in cars to Martinsburg, west. The day after we went into 
camp there we received our wagons, horses, ambulances and 
other regimental outfits, and heard that we would go up the 
Shenandoah Valley. This had already become a battlefield, 
principally one of defeat and humiliation for our side. 

You must know that up to this time Phil Sheridan’s in- 
vincible squadrons had not pressed hoof upon those sloping 
fields and beautiful terraces, nor had his infantry camped on 
those rich meadows and spreading vales; but he came that 
summer, and it never again was for us a “valley of humilia- 
tion and defeat.” 

The first march a soldier makes is almost invariably a hard 
one. First, he is not accustomed to marching, and his knap- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 257 


sack is nearly always packed with superfluities, but he has 
them, and it is painful to throw them away. The extra pair 
of socks a mother knit for him or the flannel shirt or towels 
that sister thought he should have will before long be cast 
away. It will come to that when he becomes very tired and, 
with it, mad. Nearly every soldier will try to carry the most 
when he is least prepared for it, before he is hardened to fa- 
tigue and seasoned to hardships. : 

We started about ten o’clock and marched, with a halt at 
noon, until eleven o’clock that night, a senseless, unreasonable 
distance, when there is no occasion for it, as there was no 
armed enemy within a hundred miles of us. Many of the boys 
came straggling in toward morning, foot-sore and demoral- 
ized. When we looked about us in the morning we found our- 
selves in the middle of the Shenandoah Valley, where the 
fierce billows of war later broke, exhausted, sprinkling every 
farm and hamlet with the red foam of their war crests. On 
every hand sharp skirmishes and terrific conflicts echoed and 
roared from one mountain to another. 

It was here, that autumn, that Sheridan shattered, drove 
and followed the once splendid army of Early, upon whose 
bleeding trail he swept through the mountain gaps to the final 
charge at Appomattox. 

The second day we marched through Winchester, and the 
third arrived at Cedar Creek, where we found Siegel’s army 
encamped. 

The country about here still preserved the beauty and fer- 
tility of the lower valley, flanked by the same undulating hills 
and distant mountain ranges. 

The day after we arrived John Sheridan and I took a 
walk through the various camps that were located on the roll- 


258 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


ing hills near this stream. Arriving on an eminence which af- 
forded us an uninterrupted view for a long distance in every di- 
rection we sat down to rest. Looking about him, he said: 

“This would be a good field for a battle. See what fine 
positions for artillery, and the country is sufficiently level and 
open for cavalry to maneuver.” ; 

Five months from that date his brother here fought an 
gained one of his most wonderful victories, under the cir- 
cumstances, unparalleled in the pages of history. Meeting his 
beaten and panic-stricken army rushing to the rear, he halted 
and turned them as a whirlwind upon the erstwhile victorious 
army of the enemy, to utterly defeat and crush them. 

It is strange that the same coincidence occurred with me in 
Kentucky during the winter of 1862. Our division had gone 
toward the enemy’s works on a reconnoissance to Mill Springs. 
We were within five or six miles of their camp. Here we 
halted to rest and throw up temporary breastworks. Captain 
Jackson stood upon a log, surveying the surrounding country, 
and said to me: 

“This would make a good place to fight a battle. Cavalry 
could not do much, otherwise a good battlefield.” 

Five weeks from that date the battle of Mill Springs was 
fought upon that identical ground by General Thomas on 
our side, General Crittenden leading the enemy. The result 
of that battle was the most complete victory for us up to that 
date. 

In this connection I desire to say I have a new theory. 
The world is full of them, in some cases mixing religion and 
cures, many unreasonable—others nonsensical. Therefore I 
am encouraged to advance mine. My experience has caused 
me to believe war is an epidemic and is contagious. I cannot 


_PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 259 


account for my inhumanity under any other theory. I had a 
good and very beautiful wife. I was deeply in love with her. 
She was soon to become a mother, among comparative stran- 
gers, yet I was brute and monster enough to leave her to go 
back again to that war. My conscience requires a theory to 
justify my inhumanity. But she has always been good, kind, 
and forgiving; pardoned this and my other sins. 

About this time, and indeed ever since we had left home, 
my thoughts had been much with my wife, whose condition 
warranted my fears. My anxiety increased day by day. 
While in this camp I received a letter from home, my reply to 
which will explain my solicitude. I found this old letter 
as I was looking over my papers ten years ago, prepara- 
tory to coming to Chicago. This one I did not destroy. You 
will see it was in answer to the one I received while at Cedar 
Creek. 

“CEDAR CREEK, Va., June 5, 64. 
“My Dear Mary: 

“T shall not attempt to tell you what a burden of anxiety 
and trouble was removed on the receipt of Cynthia’s letter of 
_ the 2oth last. I did not receive it until yesterday, as we have 
been moving. 

“How happy and relieved I am to hear that you and the 
little girl are getting along so well, and to know you are in 
such loving, careful hands as those of your sister and Cynthia. 
I thank C. for her prompt letter and say to her that as the con- 
veniences for writing in camp are not first-class, this long letter 
must do for both. 

“She describes the baby as perfect in form, healthy and 
very sweet, with blue eyes. In this I am a little disappointed, 
as I was in hopes it would have the splendid grey of the moth- 


260 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


er’s; but this is a small matter, and I thank God you are both 
as well as she reports. 

“IT must tell you of the lock of hair I found in the letter. 
It will give you an idea of the fun we have in this kind of life. 
I relate the incident that you may know all is not gloom and 
hardship here; we have as much of the one as the other. 

“T was not in camp when the letter arrived. We were all 
out but Harry Skinner; we had been absent over night. See- 
ing us coming, he came out to meet us, bringing the letter, as 
he knew I was expecting one of special interest. By the time 
I had glanced it over we were in quarters, halted, but in my 
abstraction I forgot, while reading it again, to dismiss them, 
for they were both tired and hungry. I held the lock of hair 
up, telling them what it was. Then they clamored loudly to 
bring it closer and let them see it. You will wonder why 
they did not come to me to see it, but a soldier does not leave 
his place until he has orders, so they stood in their places and 
called for the hair. Then Corporal Hall (Perry), you know 
how funny and facetious he can be, called me to his place and 
with great gravity said: 

“Don’t let them see it. Don’t throw away a good chance 
to make money and make it easy and honorable. You see how 
eager they are—make them pay for their curiosity. Let them — 
put the privilege and distinction of having the first sight up 
to the highest bidder. We will have an auction; let me act as 
auctioneer. When we break ranks I will announce the terms 
of the sale, which will be that the man who bids the highest 
will be taken to your tent to see the hair, with the privilege of 
taking it in his hand. Then we will receive bids for the sec- 
ond look, and so on, until the last chance is sold.” 

“Now the company broke ranks, and Perry stood upon a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 261 


stump and proclaimed the sale. By this time it seemed they 
had forgotten their fatigue and hunger, and commenced bid- 
ding. The first bid was from Thom Jackson, the bugler, who 
said ‘ten dollars.’ This was quickly followed by Dave 
Matthews bidding twenty dollars; then John Sheridan said 
‘thirty dollars.’ The bids kept going up until they had reached 
one hundred and nine dollars for the first view. 

“A neighboring company, seeing the fun and excitement, 
came over and bid against our boys, which aroused their jeal- 
ousy, and then it became more lively than ever; so Perry 
kept on selling until everyone had seen the baby’s hair. When 
the clerk, Sam Lentz, footed up the whole amount, it was over 
nine hundred dollars. 

“I am sure the interest and spirit that pervaded Perry’s 
auction was as great as the sale of seats to hear some cele- 
brated prima donna. He came to me when it was all over, 
and, with great gravity, said: ‘There is no trouble making 
money provided one knows how.’ 

“Mother will now realize her blindness more than ever in 
not being able to see the little girl. 

“The bugles are blowing for dress parade. My love to 
father, mother and the kind friends that are watching over 
you. 

“I must close abruptly. 

| “Your affectionate 
“HENRY.” 

We had been in camp nearly a week when it was rumored 
that General Siegel, who was in command, would be succeeded 
by General Hunter, known as “Black Dave,” from his swarthy 
complexion. General Hunter was cordially hated by the boys 
because of his cruelty to privates. He arrived the day fol- 


262 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


lowing our receiving the report of his coming. The next day 
I was given an order to take command of a detail of a hun- 
dred men, ten from each company in our regiment, twenty- 
five ist N. Y. Cavalry, and a section of artillery. In a half 
hour my detail was ready and reported to General Hunter’s 
headquarters for instructions, which were to escort everything 
on wheels except ambulances, ammunition trains and a very 
small subsistence train, back to Martinsburg. Hunter was 
stripping himself of everything cumbersome, to make his 
famous raid up the valley. 

After it pulled out I found that the train I was to take 
back was about three miles long, and how to protect so long 
a train with so few men was troubling me. If I divided my 
force into advance, center and rear guards, I would so weaken 
it that Mosby or Gilmore, the guerrilla leaders, whom I knew 
were not far distant, could fall upon us and gobble us up in 
detail, and if I kept my force in a single body the distant por- 
tions of the train would be at the mercy of the enemy and de- 
stroyed before we could reach them. I finally divided the 
force, with the understanding of a double-quick rally upon the 
attacked point. I also required the cavalry to do active and 
extended scouting upon both flanks, to prevent surprise. We 
were not attacked, but hourly expected it, as Mosby hovered 
within sight of our field glasses for nearly two days; on the 
third day, much to my relief, during a drizzling rain, we ar- 
rived at Martinsburg. I reported to the commanding officer, 
who relieved me of the cavalry and battery, but I was to re- 
main with the hundred infantry. <A staff officer was sent out 
to select my camp, with orders for tents and other camp outfit. 

After getting my men in comfortable shape I congratu- 
lated myself on having an easy time of it until we were or- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 263 


dered back to the regiment. No one could tell when that 
would be, for they had started with Hunter on his raid. 1 
thought I was about to enter into a period of ease and enjoy- 
ment. How badly we are fooled sometimes! I will relate 
what interfered with my enjoyment and ease the second and 
third days. 

I soon discovered that a large percentage of the men in 
my command were new soldiers and had not seen many weeks’ 
service. A new soldier requires all the care and gives all the 
trouble of a child. He has in many respects the characteris- 
tics of that portion of humanity. He does not know how to 
take care of himself. I am at liberty to tell this story now as 
the principal, an eccentric character, has within the last year 
gone to the “eternal camping ground.” If he were still here 
I would not run the risk of his seeing this in print, for what he 
did, as I shall relate, was done in all sincerity and innocence, 
but to me, when I understood, it was amusing and singular. 

It was the morning after our arrival. The rain had 
ceased, leaving a cold, damp atmosphere. It was early when 
a middle-aged soldier came to my quarters; he saluted 
me with a proper military salute and stood at “attention” 
until I invited him to a seat on an empty cracker 
box. He introduced himself—I shall call him Payne; 
giving me the detail he belonged to and the name of the ser- 
-geant he was under; the man was dignified in his bearing 
and precise in speech, very unlike the average Western soldier. 
Without many unnecessary words he broached the object of 
his visit, which was to inform me that he suffered greatly 
during the previous night from cold occasioned by the want 
of a blanket. His blanket had been stolen on the march from 
Cedar Creek; the exposure was too great to bear a second 


264 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


night, therefore he was there to ask me to be kind enough to 
“draw” him a blanket. I sympathized with him in his suf- 
ferings but was sorry to say that I could not draw him a 
blanket, for the reason that no company officer could draw 
for any soldier not belonging to his company. I would have 
to certify that he was a member of my company, which was 
not the case. If I did so I would criminate myself. He 
seemed to comprehend the obstacle, and cheerfully excused 
me. With a polite salute he bade me good-morning. 

The next morning, at about the same hour he visited me 
on the previous morning, my precise and correct-speaking 
friend made his appearance again. It was the same story of 
his sleeping too cold, or rather not sleeping for the want of a 
blanket. I asked him why he did not sleep with some of the 
other boys. His reply was that he had tried that, but the 
blanket was not wide enough for three; the result was, he was 
crowded out into the cold, besides the experiment had caused 
him to be the innocent instigator of much profanity indulged 
in by one of the young men he had attempted to sleep with; 
the young man swearing that he would not be “crowded that 
way another night, preacher or no preacher.”” Then followed 
the request, couched 1n most appropriate words, that I should 
draw him a blanket. I again explained to him the danger of 
my doing that, appealing to him if he expected me to incrim- 
inate myself. He disclaimed any intention of having me 
commit any wrong, and he would not, under any circum- 
stances, expect me to even embarrass myself for his sake. 
With the choicest words and most grammatical sentences he 
expressed a hope I would disabuse my mind of such a thought. 
Then, with the usual salute, he left me. I thought I was rid 
of my formal friend sure this time. The next morning at 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 265 


about the same hour, to my surprise and indignation he stood 
in my tent again. After the salute he as usual commenced 
the same story of distress and suffering from cold. I stopped 
him in the first stage of his “oft told tale,” telling him the 
blanket story was threadbare, that I would not hear it again, 
and if he came to my tent another time on that business I 
would punish him; that I was sick of the story. I am sure I 
used words that were not benedictions, and concluded by say- 
ing that, rather than annoy one as he had me, he should steal 
a blanket. , 

During my scolding he hung his head in apparent guilt 
and humility, but instantly he looked at me with a smile, say- 
ing, “What was that last sentence, captain? What did you 
say?’ I then repeated as I turned from him, “I say rather 
than annoy one as you have me, go and steal one.” “Thank 
you, captain. Thank you.” When I looked around again he 
was, with buoyant steps, descending the slope from my tent 
to his quarters. For a moment I wondered why Payne had 
thanked me and so suddenly changed his manner, but was so 
relieved at his departure that I soon banished him from my 
mind. 

The next morning, very early and very unexpectedly, for 
I had just dressed, here was Payne again. He was becoming 
a bore of mammoth dimensions and I was getting desperate. 
I instantly formulated in my mind how I would punish him, 
for I could bear it no longer. My mind was made up that as 
soon as he commenced the “oft told tale’ I would order him 
to leave, and for two days carry all the water for the balance 
of the battalion—no small job, as it was some distance to the 
creek. After saluting me, remaining at “attention,” with a 
smiling face, a merry little laugh, and gleefully rubbing his 


266 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


hands, he said, “Captain, I obeyed that order, and I slept so 
sweetly last night, I am here this time not to annoy you but to 
thank you, and express my gratification for that order. 

“Thanks to the Giver of all good things, I slept good and 
warm last night.” 

When listening to this speech I came to the conclusion 
the man was demented, for I could not remember any order. 
I was trying to think what I might have unconsciously said in 
my indignation on his last visit when I gave him the “blowing 
up,” but I could recall no order or any expression on my part 
that would call forth such thanks and gratitude. Then I said, 
“What orders, Payne? What are you talking about?” “Cap- 
tain, don’t you remember you ordered me ‘to steal a blanket 
rather than annoy you’? Those were the last words you said 
to me, and you repeated them—have you forgotten so soon? 
I came to report to you that I obeyed that order. When I 
was mustered in not long ago I took an oath to obey my supe- 
rior officers, and by the grace of God I propose to remain 
steadfast and faithful to that oath. I will tell you how it was. 
I looked around yesterday through that cavalry regiment over 
the hill. I saw some blankets in a colonel’s tent. I did not 
want to rob a private. Last night I went back again to the 
same tent. I saw the officer’s servant leave the tent unoccu- 
pied and I quickly entered and took two. They were together, 
of course; I had not time to separate them, so I was compelled 
to take both. I regret that they were together, but that was 
no fault of mine. Captain, this is all I have to say, as I have 
already taken too much of your time. I shall never forget 
your kindness in giving that order. God bless you and spare 
your life.” Then with a light step and pleasant smile he went 
down the slope to his quarters again. By this time the truth 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 267 


began to dawn upon me‘that Payne had taken my inadvertent 
suggestion of stealing a blanket in all seriousness and con- 
scientiously construed it into an order. I was amazed and 
amused at the strange man and stranger incident; so singu- 
larly funny did it appear to me that I had a good laugh all 
to myself. 

Payne had not been gone long, for I was still laughing, 
when a sergeant of the same detail came in to see me on some 
business. I asked him if he was well acquainted with Payne 
of his detail. ‘Oh, yes; I knew him well at home; he is a 
good, square man and a zealous Methodist, a class leader and 
exhorter, highly educated, but doesn’t know much about the 
world. So far he has been a consistent Christian, kneeling 
down to pray every night. He so mildly reproves the other 
boys of the tent when they swear that he has nearly broken 
that habit. It is seldom that they swear now in his presence. 
Some think he is a little cranky on religion, but I think he is 
all right. He has been living in our neighborhood about ten 
years; he came from Muskingum county to his present home; 
he taught our school for the last four years.” I then related 
to the sergeant what had occurred with the blanket. ‘That’s 
him,” continued the sergeant. ‘He would have frozen before 
he would have taken that blanket without what he considered 
an order, and he came to see you so often, no doubt fishing 
for that order. Of course it was a slip of the tongue on your 
part, but it relieved him of all conscientious scruples. I tell 
you, Payne is a funny man, but pure and conscientious.” 


A SOLDIER’S THANKS. 


several years after the war I permitted my name to be a 


268 GENERAL Part H. SHERIDAN 


candidate for a political office. A few days after the election 
I received the following: | 


October 22, 1879. 
My DeEar Captain :—Permit me to congratulate you on 
your election. I did all I could in my weak and humble way 
for you, to in part repay you for what you so kindly did for 
me in the Shenandoah valley. I need not refer to the incident. 
We have never met since our return, but I hope we shall. 
Very respectfully, J.T. Pa 


When the returns came in I noticed that I ran far ahead of 
all the other candidates on our ticket in the township in which 
Payne lived, which was in the extreme part of the county. 
Meeting a friend from that township a few weeks after the 
election, I inquired of him what induced the large gains for me 
in his township. His reply was: “I think I can tell you. 
There is a good, religious man down there by the name of 
Payne. Everybody likes him for his innocence, honesty and 
intelligence. Well, sir, this man went from house to house 
among his Democratic friends and begged them to vote for 
you. When they asked him why he took such an interest in 
you he would always say, ‘It would take too long to tell you 
all the story, but I will say this much: He saved my life 
once. That is all I can tell you.’ Then he would hurry to 
another friend.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


COLONEL MULLIGAN’S DEATH—THE VIRGINIA GIRL ON THE 
PIKE— DRIVEN OUT OF MARTINSBURG — LIEUTENANT 
MARTIN. 


‘ X J E remained in camp at Martinsburg during the month 
of June, not far from the camp of Colonel Mulligan, 
of the 23rd Illinois, of Chicago. 

I remember admiring his company drill. I never saw the 
whole battalion on drill. I was also attracted by his fine drum 
corps; the drummers were principally Irish, possibly, all and 
were comparatively old men. I was told they had been drum- 
mers in the British army. We were not far from him when 
he was killed, and were much depressed when we knew of his 
death, inasmuch as we were of the opinion that he had been 
needlessly sacrificed by mismanagement, for it seemed to me 
there was no concert of action on our part; the operations 
appeared to be disjointed, reminding me of a team of balky 
horses, first one pull, then the other. There was no system; 
all was confusion. 

The reader must not forget that this was before General 
Sheridan came to us in the valley. Hot days began to arrive. 
It was on one of those that our regiment returned from Cedar 
Creek, where I had left it to bring the wagon train back. 

The day after their return I received an order to report 
to headquarters prepared to escort a train to Williamsport. 
I had indulged the hope that my boys would not be called out 
until they had rested from the march down the valley; be- 
sides it bid fair to be a sultry day. 

269 


270 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


Not long after receiving the order we were in front of 
headquarters to report our presence. I was told the train 
would not be ready for an hour. I then marched the com- 
pany to the opposite side of the street, where there was a nar- 
row strip of shade on the sidewalk near the houses. We 
stacked arms, with the command: “In place.” “Rest” 
Which meant they could sit or lie down, so long as they re- 
tained their places in Company formation. It was but a few 
minutes until they were all asleep in the shadow of the wall 
within the line of shade. J alone remained awake to receive 
the order to take our place with the train. 

While I was waiting here a citizen came to that part of 
the company most distant from me. He would stoop down 
and deposit a paper in the blouse or haversack of each of the 
sleepers. He carried an armful of the papers. When he 
came to me I received one, and found it to be a religious tract 
on the sin of profanity. He sat down by my side and we con- 
versed on the subject of my tract; we were agreed that swear- 
ing was a useless, disgusting sin. 

“And yet,” said I, with all the seriousness I could assume, 
“in my opinion there is one class of men in the army who will 
not be held accountable in God’s mercy for this sinful habit.” 

He looked at me and asked: “What class do you 
refer to?” 

“The mule drivers,” I replied. 

He looked again very seriously, and pondered some time 
before saying a word. Then, with deliberation, replied: 

“T think you are right. God will not hold the mule driver 
responsible. I drove mules in the army myself; I know the 
temptation; I quit driving; I found it would not go with study- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 271 


ing for the ministry, which I am now doing,” and he gathered 
up his remaining tracts and bid me good-bye. 

It was at Harpers Ferry a colporteur came to us distribut- 
ing small Testaments, German as well as English. Corporal 
Tom Berkey, one of our wags, took a German one. I never 
knew the story until our return. This is the way Tom told it: 

“A few hours after I got home I concluded to unpack my 
knapsack. They wanted to see what a soldier carried, espe- 
cially mother, who stood near. The last thing out was the 
little Bible. When she saw that, she said: ‘Thomas, what 
is that?’ I replied, “A Testament, mother.’ ‘Oh, I’m so glad 
you have been reading the Bible; you never were a very good 
boy, but this is so encouraging. Iam sure you are good now.’ 
She looked at it, then opened it. ‘Why, Thomas, this is Ger- 
man; you don’t read a word of German.’ ‘No, of course not, 
_ but I might learn some time.’ ” 

And Mrs. Berkey’s confidence in Tom’s religion weakened 
again. 

It was the last time we were on outpost duty at this camp 
on the Winchester Pike. The weather was becoming very 
hot. The sun beat down on that flint road with merciless 
fury. We were glad to arrive at the outpost, where there 
was shelter from that hot sun under some trees that formed 
the entrance to an inviting oak grove. This place is that 
which soldiers call the “reserve,” where they remained after 
being relieved from duty, still farther out, to remain until their 
time came again in four hours. Here they could cook, eat, 
smoke, read and sleep; restraint or watchfulness was not ex- 
pected at the “reserve” to any great extent, for those men 
more advanced must watch for the enemy and prevent anyone 
not having the pass or countersign from entering our lines. 


272 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


About three o’clock, while the heat was still furious, a 
relief came to the reserve, one of whom told me there was a 
girl at the outpost on the Pike who wanted to go through on 
her way to Martinsburg. 

“Of course we refused her and she began to cry and asked 
for an officer. I promised her to ask you to go down. She 
says she lives about fifty miles from here and walked all the 


~ way from her home in the mountains.” 


“Go back and tell her to go home; she cannot pass.” 

On the soldier’s return he said he had delivered my mes- 
sage, but she made no movement to return, and he left her 
crying, and saying something about Early coming down the 
valley again, but she cried so he could not clearly understand 
her. She had begged him to send me down, as she wanted to 
tell me all about it. I started down, in no friendly mood, de- 
termined to refuse her, for our orders in these cases were per- 
emptory; sometimes our refusals were almost cruel, but we 
had no option. I soon arrived at the deserted cottage by the 
wayside, where the boys said I would find her. She was sit- 
ting in the door, a very pretty girl, neatly clad in a clean calico 
frock, her fine brown eyes bearing evidence of recent weeping, 
her naturally fair complexion sunburned. There was also 
every evidence of fatigue. Her beauty and distressed appear- 
ance disarmed me to such an extent that I found it impossible 
to open the conversation in the manner I had planned while 
coming down the hot Pike. 

“Air you the captain?” she asked, meekly, and with trem- 
bling lips, in the broadest Virginia dialect. 

“Yes; what do you want?” 

“TI sont for you, as they wouldn’t let me go any further, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 27% 


to tell you about it. Maybe you'd let me go through, for they 
say ’taint more than three miles to where I'll find him.” 

“Find who?” 

“Why, Bill Johnson!” 

“How do you know he is there, and why do you wish to 
see him?” 

“That’s what I want to tell you. He sont me a letter by 
a man and said in it if I’d come to Martinsburg we'd git mar- 
ried, as he has a job now drivin’ for the Union side, and if I 
don’t find him there I’ll sure find him in Ohio, fur he was sure 
to git work there.” : 

“Where did he want you to go in Ohio? That is a large 
state with millions of people in it. How could you find him 
unless you knew the place?” 3 

“He said in that letter—Sally Peters read it fur me— 
that he’d most likely be in Martinsburg, but mout be in Ohio.” 

“Why did he not go to your home to get married?” 

“You see, he’s a-feared to come to our house, fur he be- 
longed to Mosby’s men and they say as how they'll kill him 
if ever they ketch him. The fuss commenced about a watch; 
I’ve seen the watch many a time. Mosby’s men had a fight 
with one of your trains. After the fight Bill and one of the 
Osborne boys—they don’t live very fur from us—come to a 
dead Yankee teamster at exactly the same time; they found 
some money in his pocket. They divided the money fa’r and 
squar’, then fit about the watch, and Bill had to kill him with 
a knife or git killed hisself, so he keeps the watch. He told 
me he killed the Yankee hisself and the money and watch was 
fa’rly his, but to keep down a furse he let the Osborne boy have 
half, then he tried to grab the watch from Bill; that brought 
on the fight and I believed just what Bill said, fur the Osborne 


274 GENERAL Put H. SHERIDAN 


boys is a powerful ornery, lyin’ set. My pap would never let 
me have anything to do with them.” 

“And do you think Bill would be true to you if you shoul 
find him?” 

“Oh, yes! He always tells me the truth. He’s told me 
over and over ag’in he wants to marry me.” 

“And if you could not find him in Martinsburg have you 
any money to pay your expenses to Ohio?” 

“T think I'll find him thar. I won’t need any. I have a 
little money. I sold a pig and got three dollars for it. I have 
two dollars yit. I’d freely give you half of what I have if 
you'd let me go through to find him,” and she began to fumble 
in her bosom for the money to pay me for the chance of find- 
ing her lover. 

While she was searching for the money, she continued : 

“Sallie Peters’ beau was to see her the night before I left. 
Her beau is in the Confederate army; and he told her as how 
Early would be down here in a day or two to drive the. Yan- 
yees out, and that’s another reason I want to see Bill, so he 
can tell you’uns and save hisself and take me along.” 

By this time she had found the money and offered it to 
me. I told her I did not want it. The reason I could not let 
her pass was that we had very strict orders, but in her case, 
as she brought some word from the enemy, I did not know 
what to do. 

“T know you would like to see your Bill, and I would love 
to see my wife, but I cannot see her.”’ 

“Yes, but she’s fur away, but Bill is so near now.” 

As I hesitated, she looked at me appealingly and said: 
“Oh, Captain, you’ll not turn me back, now I’ve come so fur 
and am so tired, and he’s so near! ‘You can’t have the heart 


BES PRS ck) ane BOR ar ak) A 28 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 275 


to turn me back. Now, if you'll let me through I'll pray for 
you. I allowed when I started that they wouldn’t be so par- 
tic’lar "bout a girl goin’ through.” 

As she spoke there was a tremor on her pretty; parched 
lips and tears in her beautiful eyes. That weakened me and 
what little firmness I had gave way, for I was yet a lover my- 
self, and thought I could have gone through Early’s army to 
have seen my wife. I could appreciate her feelings. Yes, 
her piteous plea, with what she told me of the approach of 
Early as she had learned it from Sallie Peters’ Confederate 
beau, decided in her favor. This information, with the fact 
that she was too pretty and unsuspecting, induced me to send 
her in under the protection of a reliable sergeant. 

Fortunately, John Sheridan had been detailed temporarily 
as clerk at the provost marshal’s office a few days before. [| 
directed the guard to take the girl to him, writing an explana- 
tory note, with the request that he secure her employment as 
a domestic at some hotel, boarding house or private residence 
until she could ascertain if her Bill was in that vicinity, and to 
get all the information he could from her concerning Early’s 
advance down the valley. 

John took an interest in the poor girl’s troubles and se- 
cured her employment. I was inclined to think from reports 
afterward received, that this girl’s information of the enemy’s 
intentions was the earliest received, but, judging from the 
preparations made to receive our visitors, no attention was 
paid to it, though in three days he was there, driving us out 
with his thirty or forty thousand troops. We never heard 
what became of the girl who had walked from the mountains 
fifty miles away to marry her Bill. 

The glorious Fourth of July was approaching and officers 


276 GENERAL Putt H, SHERIDAN 


had called on Colonel Maltby to mark out a program to cele- 
brate that event. He had this completed by July 2nd. That 
day a scout came down who notified headquarters that Early 
was coming down on his annual raid, but no one paid much 
attention, that I noticed. There were no visible preparations 
made to receive him, so, because of the general apathy shown 
by those who should have known the truth, I had no confi- 
dence in the report. A staff officer at headquarters told me 
he thought there was no truth in it. He said, “You know we 
are always dwelling in the midst of alarms.” During the 
night other scouts came in who corroborated the day report. 
I had business again at headquarters, but could see or hear of 
no preparations for retreat or a fight. There was no activity 
at the railroad station to move our stores to a safer place; there 
were immense army supplies that had been accumulating for 
months. I could not see a single wagon train loading. I left 
camp again on the night of the 3rd to learn something. I did 
not go to headquarters—there was no occasion for that. 

The danger we were in had by this time begun to dawn 
upon the city, or, rather, the military part of it. There seemed 
to be something in the air that boded no good. I thought I 
could taste and see danger before I came quite to the town. 
After I gained the streets, the suppressed confusion and whis- 
pered fears were plainly apparent. 

It was now known that the enemy in large force was not 
many miles away. It should not have been a matter of sur- 
prise to those in authority, for a fine harvest of wheat had 
been cut and thrashed. Martinsburg was full of clothing and 
other war supplies. It was just the place a hungry army 
would delight to pounce upon. This rich valley was the well- 
filled granary of the Confederacy, but with all those facts, and 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 277 


the timely notices we had received, not many stores had been 
moved and no preparations were made for fighting. While 
in the Western army we had often heard of the mismanage- 
ment of the war in the East, but the half had not been told. 
That night at one o’clock I was awakened by the sergeant- 
major with this verbal order. It was delivered to each cap- 
tain: “Get your men out to cook and eat breakfast as soon 
as possible; cook one day’s rations for haversack; then form 
company and distribute forty rounds of ammunition.” 

The sight that followed this order was beautiful. As if 
by magic thousands of fires sprang into exisctence and the 
effect was a grand pyrotechnic display that moonless, cloudy 
night. The boys had scarcely carried out the order when 
the “Assembly” sounded; the battalion formed and marched 
to Martinsburg, following and followed by other regiments. 
We supposed, in the language of eloquent Tom Corwin of 
Ohio, that we were to “greet our enemies with bloody hands 
and welcome them to hospitable graves.” 

From Martinsburg we marched about three miles south 
on the Winchester Pike. Here a line of battle was formed 
across the pike, fronting south. By this time it was near sun- 
rise, and as the sun made its appearance it dispelled the clouds 
that had covered the sky. Now every sign gave promise of a 
clear, hot Fourth of July—hot, we thought it might be, in 
more than one sense. We remained here until the sun was an 
hour high, when the boys became restive. Up to this time 
there was no appearance of the enemy. Now jokes began 
to pass as to the prospects of soon seeing the finest fireworks 
they had ever seen on a Fourth of July. As the boys were 
in the height of their repartee, far out from our skirmish line, 
which was a half mile in front of us, I could see some cavalry 


278 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


coming toward us. I thought this might be the enemy, so did 
the boys. Their smart sayings suddenly stopped, but as the 
riders approached our skirmish line without the firing of a 
shot on either side, it was proof that they did not belong to 
the enemy. Soon they rode through the skirmishers, coming 
to our line. As they came within speaking distance we were 
told that Early was within an hour’s march of us. Now I 
was more surprised than ever that we were not ordered to build 
temporary breastworks, which we could have done with the 
stone fences and other material handy. This was always the 
first thing done in the West when a battle was expected. I 
could not understand it. We waited here another hour when, 
in the far distance, I could see immense clouds of dust. This 
was the enemy, probably going from column into line of battle, 
preparing to attack. 

Now, the reader will be as much surprised as I was to 
learn that we just reversed that order and went from line of 
battle into column, then counter-marched back toMartinsburg 
again, surely expecting to go back to our tents, load them up, 
with all our other camp equipage and march, no one knew 
or cared where. Our surprise and mortification was increased 
when we found that we were leaving our camp equipage be- 
hind us on our way to the Potomac river and Maryland. We 
could see as we marched through that it was a hurried evacua- 
tion, and oh! such an expensive one. How I wished for Phil 
Sheridan in that valley that day. I could see that another 
humiliating retreat was coming. There was confusion, loss 
and destruction everywhere as we marched through—soldiers’ 
clothing, sugar, coffee, molasses, corn, oats and other valuable 
property lay about the streets unguarded and trampled under 
foot or carried away by citizens and soldiers; barrels of whisky 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 279 


were turned on end, the heads stove in and surrounded by 
drunken soldiers, filling their canteens and themselves, many 
of whom doubtless became unable to make their escape. 

During the whole of my service in the West I had never 
seen such loss as I beheld in two hours here. When we en- 
tered Nashville there was about the same condition of affairs, 
but it was not so painful to us, as the loss was on the other 
side. When we arrived well out of town there was a halt, 
and a line of battle formed again. I thought we would fight 
here, as our position was better for defense. I remember 
being well pleased with our situation, as we were in a ceme- 
tery, the tombstones and monuments affording us good pro- 
tection. Harvey Parrett, one of our funny men, said if he 
was to be killed he wanted it done in that spot so as to beat 
the undertakers out of a big bill. 

We had just taken our place in this beautiful cemetery 
when a woman and three little children came running up be- 
hind my company, excited and crying. The mother asked 
me if there was going to be a battle. I told her it looked so, 
but there might be none, as this army “would rather run than 
fight.” | 

“What shall I do! What shall I do!’ was her plaint, fol- 
lowed by a concert of sobbing. 

“Where do you live?” 

“In yonder cottage.” 

“Where is your husband?” 

“In the Union army. What shall Ido?” Then followed 
more crying. 

“Have you a cellar under your house? If so, go there. 
We could fight here a week and you would then be safe.” 

She followed my advice, apparently much comforted with 


280 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


the new place of safety I had suggested. 

We remained here for some time, when the enemy threw 
a shell or two toward the city. In a few minutes after the 
reverberations had died away I heard a familiar crying in our 
rear. On looking back I found it came from the same family, 
who was coming toward me again. I went back to meet them, 
to ascertain what the trouble was, and why she had left her 
place of safety, and this was her explanation: 

“Oh, sir, when I heard those cannon just now I thought 
they might throw a shell in our cellar that would kill us all. 
What shall I do with my children—my poor children?” 

And the weeping broke forth afresh, louder and longer 
than before. 

I could only insist that she return to the cellar, as there 
was no danger there. Then she reluctantly started back 
again, the little brood clinging to her frock. 

The enemy was now only a mile or so from us, a famili- 
arity our general did not approve of. We were again put in 
column, taking the Shepherdstown road to the Potomac, but 
twice before we reached this place did the closeness of the 
enemy’s approach cause us to face about to repel attack. No 
enemy approaching, however, we continued our march, arriv- 
ing in a pretty town about dark. There we rested on the 
streets for several hours, until the bugle called us into line. 
We soon found ourselves on the banks of the river, which we 
forded with some difficulty, as the wagon trains and artillery 
occupied and blocked up the main ford, compelling the infantry 
to go below or above, where fording was very rough, the 
channel being covered with boulders. I had my hands more 
than full, as my boy, being sleepy and tired, would stumble 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 281 


and fall, so I took his hand in mine and assisted him to land 
safely. 

It was probably eleven o’clock when we struck the Mary- 
land shore, so fatigued that we were only too glad to throw 
ourselves on the soft, clean sand of the bank and sleep sweetly 
until sunrise. After a very poor breakfast—many had none, 
as the cooked rations we had started with were exhausted— 
we formed again and marched to Sharpsburg. Here we 
halted to rest. 

My former lieutenant, Martin, who had been with me in 
the Army of the Cumberland, was with me now as a private. 
He sat down by my side, saying: 

“Captain, this is a new experience for us; we never fled 
from the enemy in the Western army. Isn’t it a shame to do 
so now? This Eastern army is one of blunders and mis- 
takes, and to think of the many brave fellows who must suffer 
for it and are killed by these mistakes, and nothing accom- 
plished! Why didn’t they let us fight for those stores at Mar- 
tinsburg? Of course, we could not have whipped Early, but 
a fight would have kept him back long enough to have saved 
nearly all the supplies.” 

He was thoroughly disgusted. 

As I remarked before, this brave Irish soldier had been 
my lieutenant in the 31st Ohio. The reader may wonder why, 
having been a commissioned officer, he should now be serving 
in the ranks. The story is a sad one: 

When the 31st Ohio veteranized and came home on their 
promised furlough, Lieutenant Martin, with another officer 
who also had a grievance, on their arrival at Columbus, 
called ~on the Governor of Ohio and asked why they 
had not received promotion to which they had been just- 


282 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


ly entitled. Why, in the language of the camp, they 
had been “jumped.” The Governor made some explana- 
tion which was not satisfactory. Both of the officers were 
somewhat under the influence of drink. A quarrel followed, 
Martin became excited and indiscreet in his language. He 
pointed to his scarred neck and face, to wounds he had re- 
ceived in battle, and asked if he was not entitled to some con- 
sideration at least, and to as fair treatment as one who could 
show no scars, broadly intimating that it was political influence 
that was promoting others and robbing him of what he had 
earned and to which he was fairly entitled. The Governor’s 
dignity was touched and he in turn became angry, ordering 
both officers from his office, and telegraphing to the Secretary 
of War at Washington that both be dismissed from the 
service. 

When Martin received official notice of his dismissal it 
nearly broke his heart, plunging him into the deepest despair. 
When he returned to our village he was almost constantly 
under the influence of drink. I was then making up my sec- 
ond company. He joined it. I would gladly have appointed 
him a sergeant but for his habitual intemperance. 

After our return to Ohio to be mustered out at Zanesville, 
he was within eighteen miles of the home where his mother 
and sister resided, but he never returned to see them. After 
his discharge he was never heard of with any degree of cer- 
tainty. My opinion is that he committed suicide in the Mus- 
kingum, on whose banks we camped until discharged. He 
was very sensitive in regard to his dismissal, and probably 
imagined that nothing else would wash away the stain of what 
he thought to be a dishonorable discharge. There were other 
theories and rumors. Some thought he had enlisted in an- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 283 


other regiment and been killed. Be this as it may, when the 
call came for unhappy Martin, and the Recording Angel 
turned to his earthly account, on the right side could be found 
a long column of good traits, among them being kindness, 
charity, patriotism, bravery and integrity; while on the dark 
page, so far as I could judge, appeared only one vice, intem- 
perance, and one fault, impetuosity. 

Harshly as he had been treated, disgraced as he thought 
he had been by the Governor, he was too much of a soldier 
to complain, and too proud to repine. Once only did he speak 
to me of his dismissal; it was in Virginia, when I made the 
remark that I had never heard him complain of his treatment 
by the Governor. 

“No, I never do, for the reason the old Scotchman as- 
signed: ‘If I complained to my friends it would pain them; 
if to my enemies, it would please them.’ ” 

Many years have passed since I parted with my lieutenant, 
yet a sigh still comes with the memory of that impulsive, gen- 
erous, ill-used comrade. 

When I begun this digression we were retreating from 
Early. I was describing our chagrin and shame at the flight. 
But even in the hour of retreat and disaster there is often a 
humorous happening. An amusing incident would occasion- 
ally crowd itself in as 1f to neutralize the bitterness. 

All companies have a few members with no bravery to 
spare. I may have been one of the ones in my company, but 
my natural pride and feeling of responsibility prevented me 
from exposing my fear. I was not seeking my “bowl of 
~ blood” if I could honorably and consistently let it pass from 
my lips. 

While fleeing from Early on this retreat, I had discovered 


284. GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


that four or five of my men could not be found; it was after- 
wards ascertained that they were several miles ahead of the 
regiment. I remembered that those same men straggled that 
far behind when we were up the valley toward the enemy, and 
they had assigned as a reason, when they came to us in camp, 
that by reason of sore feet and fatigue they could not keep up. 
So adroitly had they managed to get ahead that I did not dis- 
cover their absence until a sergeant called my attention to it. 
Of course, it was a mystery to all who spoke of their absence. 

When we went into camp that night after supper, Sheridan 
and I called Perry Hall’s attention to the case. Perry was a 
scientific reasoner, as well as a philosopher, as you will soon 
discover. Hall’s explanation, after he had given the matter 
due deliberation and careful thought, was this, as near as I 
can remember now after more than forty years have elapsed: 

“First, it was not a case of fear nor lack of courage, but 
of polar magnetism. On some men the magnetic influence 
was much greater than upon others, therefore they were more 
susceptible. These susceptible persons when moving south- 
ward, as we had done when approaching the enemy up the 
valley, would find themselves hampered or retarded; in other 
words, they could not-march so rapidly or easily. The same 
persons when going northward, as we were now doing, would, 
in the same ratio, be drawn forward, and would travel more 
easily and rapidly. Yes, it was purely a question of polar 
magnetism.” 

Then some unscientific member of the company came up 
who had not heard all of Hall’s opinion, or, if he had heard it, 
did not clearly understand it. He asked Hall to give a clearer 
explanation and some authority for his conclusions. And this 
was the reply I remember hearing him give: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—I’RIEND 285 


“T will give you the best authority there is on the subject. 
Comstock, who says: ‘When one is longitudinally consti- 
tuted, subject to hydrostatic influences, then the gummnotus 
electricus sphere forces the planetariam which is largely con- 
trolled by the prismatic spectrum.” 

Alf Van Sickle, who was toasting a piece of side meat on 
the end of a stick, said it was all as clear as mud to him now. 
This slur made Hall mad, as he regarded it in the light of a 
sneer or reflection on his lucid explanation, so he got up and 
walked away, saying there was no use “casting pearls before 
swine.” 

But the majority of those who sat around that fire went 
to bed soon after, certain that the theory was correct and had 
been clearly explained. 

An incident occurred the next day, I think it was, that con- 
vinced me that Perry Hall was as much of a philosopher as 
he was a scientist. He and John Sheridan, for mutual enjoy- 
ment and reciprocal benefit, marched together, and they were 
well matched physically. When they enlisted they were as 
slick and plump as good living and no work could make a 
man. “Love of labor was with neither a heaven-born gift.” 
In this rotund condition they drew their military clothing. 

There was a cool, drizzling rain; we were standing around 
a fire, all feeling depressed and discouraged. There was 
everything that day to shed gloom over us. We were discuss- 
ing a defeat that had occurred to our forces the day before at 
Snicker’s Gap. Besides, we had been run up and down the 
valley for about two months, with the poorest fare and carry- 
ing very heavy loads, which caused Hall’s and Sheridan’s once 
well-filled trousers and blouses to hang upon them with most 
ludicrous expanse. The blue cloth failed to shrink as did their 


286 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


fat forms, so that it could truthfully be said there was no “fit- 
ness of things.” 

A pause occurred as we stood around that smoky fire, then 
suddenly Hall, who was standing within reach of Sheridan 
and had noticed the copious folds that hung about his friend, 
reached down and gathered a large handful of the superfluous 
clothing, and pulling it up, said: 

“Sheridan, you and I will either have to buy some fat or 
sell some trousers.” : 

In the morning, after Hall had made the scientific expla- 
nation charitably exonerating those missing men from cow- 
ardice, there were still a few who were not satisfied with his 
explanation. One of the skeptics asked him why, if his theory 
were true, it had not been discovered before the war. With 
a look of pity and disdain for one so ignorant and with a mind 
so obtuse, he replied that ‘‘the citizens before the war did not 
carry the same amount of metallic matter a soldier does; the 
latter had his gun, bayonets, bullets, and brass buttons.” 

This unanswerable argument satisfactorily explained all 
doubts, and so far as I could hear, Hall’s theory was thought 
correct, therefore it would be unjust to hold those persons 
who were subject to such polar influences responsible for 
their speed while marching north or south to and from the 
enemy. | 
A two days’ march from Martinsburg via Pleasant Valley, 
a circuitous route, brought us to Maryland Heights. It was 
nearly midnight when we begun the ascent. The roundabout 
way we took was to avoid the enemy, who now had the oppo- 
site side of the river and could have harassed us with their 
artillery had we marched down the river road, which was by 
far the shortest route. Early had not only cheated us out of 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 287 


the projected Fourth of July celebration, but we were glad to 
escape with our lives and liberty. 

In an exhausted condition, we finally came to the spot 
where we could camp, and soon fell into the deepest sleep. It 
was not the least disturbance to us that a battery of heavy 
artillery in the midst of our bivouac was shelling the enemy 
on the opposite side of the river, they returning the compli- 
ment. We, having the highest ground, the shots of the enemy 
did us little damage. But our delightful rest was abruptly 
disturbed; we were rudely and suddenly shaken, as strangely 
as had occurred the panic at Shiloh or Corinth, Mississippi. 

The breaking loose and stampeding of artillery horses 
caused this panic, just as it had the other. The animals 
plunged through the sleeping masses, none of us being in 
tents, trampling and frightening the men into the direst con- 
fusion. I was awakened by the thundering noise of their 
hoofs upon the stony surface, which sounded not unlike a 
coming storm; this, mingled with the shouting and yelling of 
the men, reminding me of my former experiences, only this 
one was nearer. 

When the hoof-beats and yelling came near, I-seized my 
blanket in one hand and my boy in the other, and dragged 
them a few steps away, to crawl under a cannon, knowing we 
would there be safe from the horses, for I was confident there 
was no enemy on that side of the river. Before I could reach 
the cannon some of the rushing crowd following had stepped 
on my blanket and pulled it from my grasp. Of course I 
could not halt to regain it, for I was forced in the direction 
of the cannon by the surging crowd. I had hardly crawled 
under the cover, clinging to my boy, who was not yet fully 
awake, when the sounds ceased and a comparative calm fell 


288 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


upon the camp again. I went back to where I had lost my 
blanket, but of course it was gone; looking around for some 
time, I found another. 

The best soldiers have been seized with panic, even in day- 
light. When the nerves have been strained for hours, the 
constant tension exhausts the endurance of human nature; 
then the most trifling incident will throw them off their bal- 
ance and they lose their self-control and can as quickly be 
thrown into a panic as a herd of buffaloes. Napier records 
an incident of the Peninsular war. Sir John Moore’s army, 
than whom more seasoned soldiers never carried muskets, 
while resting by the roadside was broken into utter confusion 
when a loose horse came galloping down the ranks. 

Early followed us up. The second or third day after oc- 
cupying this camp our outposts were forced back. He not 
only had us surrounded but, to use a Western phrase, we were 
“treed.” For four or five days we hourly expected to be 
attacked. We skirmished every day. At the end of the 
tenth day a scout came in who reported that the enemy was 
moving east. A new Ohio regiment was near us. Their 
oversanguine colonel heard the report, called on General Sigel, 
who had command, and asked to be allowed to make a recon- 
noissance with his men, as they were spoiling for a fight, and 
the new colonel doubtless desired to distinguish himself and 
punish the Confederate general for keeping us besieged so 
long. The order was given for him to make the reconnois- 
sance, with a caution to proceed with care. My company was 
on outpost duty near the road on which the new regiment went. 
They passed us in the highest glee, much as if they were 
going to a picnic, everyone appearing gay. Many had some- 
thing to say to us as they passed, as to the number of cap- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 289 


tured flags they would bring back and what we would pay for 
Confederate scalps, etc. 

I immediately feared the result of this movement should 
the officer commanding be as sanguine and confident as the 
men appeared to be. I knew about how long it would take 
to arrive at the enemy’s line, provided they had not moved. 
With the keenest interest I listened, when I thought they 
might have arrived in that vicinity. 

It was not long until there was a single shot, followed 
by two or three others. Soon it turned to light skirmish fir- 
ing. The sound seemed to be receding, the new regiment was 
evidently driving them. More rapid firing followed, then 
heavy volleys of musketry that echoed among the hills and 
valleys as if there were a battle; this continued for some time, 
increasing in volume and vigor. It was a battle. We heard 
the bugles calling our regiment, that was in camp, to assemble, 
and not long afterward many regiments came out and formed 
in line of battle in rear of us. There was yet firing in front, 
but that it had decreased nearer to us was ominous. Now it 
had died away to a skirmish again, seemingly near the spot 
where we had first heard the firing. Then we saw men coming 
toward us faster than a walk. When they came up, some had 
thrown their arms away and were breathless and excited. 
They were sufficiently exhausted to be glad to stop and tell 
us, when they had recovered breath, that the balance of the 
battalion were nearly all killed or taken prisoners. ‘The Con- 
federates laid a trap for us and we walked right into it. Be- 
fore we were aware of it we were surrounded, a whole brigade 
firing into us.” Not long afterward the remainder of the reg- 
iment came up without any organization. It reminded me 
of a mob. 


290 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


The contrast between their appearance now and an hour 
previous, was painful; their gleeful songs had ceased, they 
were curt, sullen, sad. As others came up who were not so 
badly frightened we more clearly heard the story of the sur- 
prise and trap. The enemy had lured the raw, inexperienced 
regiment on by falling back as our men advanced, until they 
were well within their lines. The country being rough, 
wooded and hilly, it was easy to conceal many regiments 
within a short distance without being seen. When the re- 
treating enemy made a stand and the fight became serious, these 
men in grey fell upon their flanks and even upon their rear; 
they were attacked on all sides. What else could be the 
result? The new regiment crumbled to pieces, going back 
faster than they had come, in terrible disorder. The scene 
was, as an intelligent young Scotchman described it to me, as 
he sat down to rest. The gathering place of Clan Alpine, 
where the whistle of Roderick Dhu sounded its call: 


“Instant through copse and heath arose 
Bonnets and spears and bended bows; 
On right, on left, above, below, 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe.” 


There was no doubt from the loss of the enemy, as I after- 
ward learned from some prisoners at the John Brown House, 
that the new men behaved very well until they found that 
they were surrounded, and suffering much loss, then they 
broke and fled; they became perfectly helpless before the su- 
perior and seasoned veterans of Early. 

After the first break, the prisoners told me who had been 
engaged in the fight, there was but little fighting on our sideé 
every man getting back to the rear as best and as fast as he 
could. I. noticed one redeeming fact as the whipped men 
passed us, the field officers and many of the company officers 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 291 


brought up the rear with one company which had not lost its 
organization; these acted as rear guard and were not panic 
stricken. Yes, of that new, hilarious regiment, all got back 
except about twenty, all sadder and wiser men. 

At the beginning of this little fight, when the bugles called 
for the regiments to assemble, a New York German battery 
came galloping up to our post, then unlimbered, ready for 
action. We were moved to their rear to support. As soon 
as it was thought the fugitives were all in, they commenced 
singing German songs, then the battery opened toward the 
enemy’s camp with a terrific fire; their songs changed to a 
louder key with faster time to correspond with the quicker 
movements of the cannoneers while loading and firing. What 
strange harmony with the steady roar of their guns! This 
battery had camped near us for several weeks, their men gen- 
erally sitting around their tents with the austerity and solem- 
nity of monks, almost sullen, smoking their pipes or playing 
cards. ‘Therefore, the transformation from their slow, silent 
life to one of mirth and song, during the battle, was so strik- 
ing that it was difficult to realize its being the same body 
of men. 

Among those Germans were some wonderfully skilled 
wood-carvers, who carved some beautiful pipes from the laurel 
root that abounds in those mountains. The commissioned 
officers of my company contributed five dollars to be paid to 
one of those carvers for a pipe to be of special design and 
beauty, that we intended as a present for Captain MacVeigh, 
a retired steamboat captain of Zanesville, whose building we 
occupied the ten days we waited at that place to be organized 
and mustered into service. It was to be a token of gratitude 
for the kindness and care shown by the Captain and Mrs. 


292 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


MacVeigh toward some sick boys we had in our company, 
but the kind captain never received the present which the Ger- 
man had already commenced, for before it was finished we 
were again driven by our relentless enemy, Early, and thus 
separated from the battery. We never saw the German sing- 
ing fighters again. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


OLD JOHN BROWN’S HOME—THE WOUNDED AT THE HOME- 
STEAD—DRIVEN AGAIN—PHIL SHERIDAN COMING TO THE 
VALLEY. 


in “Ironquill,”’ which have endeared Mr. Ware to the 
hearts of those early pioneers who shared with the 
hero of Harpers Ferry the early struggles and trials in Kansas. 


States are not great 
Except as men may make them; 
Men are not great except they do and dare. 
But states, like men, 
Have destinies that take them, 
That bear them on, not knowing why or where. 


] ) in trons to John Brown were the following lines 


And there is one 
Whose faith, whose fight, whose failing 
Fame yet shall placard on the walls of time. 
He dared begin, 
Despite the unavailing; 
He dared begin when failure was a crime. 


From boulevards 
O’erlooking both Myanzas, 
The statured bronze shall glitter in the sun, 
With rugged lettering: 
“John Brown, of Kansas: 
He dared begin. He lost, but, losing, WON.” 


“There is a crown of immortal fame given to a few who fail.” 
The second day after the fight another scout came in with 
the report that now the enemy had surely left our front. They 
had gone during the night. 
293 


294 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


- Our commanding officer, desiring to know the truth, 
ordered our regiment to make a reconnoissance. In an hour 
after receiving the order we were on our way, observing more 
caution and less gaiety than the new regiment who had re- 
ceived such rough treatment a couple of days before. 

We had only gone a few hundred yards from the outposts 
when two companies were ordered to the front and deployed 
as skirmishers, my company being one, and, I, the ranking 
officer, having command of both. 

We advanced slowly and carefully, for we were among the 
brush, trees, hills and valleys; the foe might be lurking near 
at hand. Within two miles we came to evidences of the un- 
fortunate fight; some of our men were yet unburied; the 
weather being hot, they had swollen to enormous size. Ina 
cabin occupied by a lonely old woman we found a wounded 
soldier who had been shot through the head, the brain pro- 
truding, but he was still breathing; this was the third day he 
had lived, showing wonderful tenacity. 

On reaching an eminence the colonel came to me, and, 
pointing to a landmark in the distance, said: 

“Take the skirmish line to that point; the battalion will 
slowly follow and rest at an intermediate point.” 

All this time we could see no enemy, but there were abun- 
dant indications that they had left but a few hours before, as 
their fires were still burning. 

We arrived at the landmark at which the colonel had in- 
structed me to halt, and we had been there but a short time 
when one of my boys called me to come to the left. Word 
had been sent up to him that a man wanted to see me. On 
arriving, I found a citizen mounted on an old, lame horse. 
He told me he had been watching us, and fearing we would 
not come to his house, as we had halted, he came out to tell 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 295 


us that there were three Confederate soldiers there who de- 
sider to surrender, also that his house was full of our wounded, 
taken in after the fight of two days before. 

“Some of your Wounded men saw you coming and are 
wild with delight at the prospect of relief and food, which I 
could not give them, as the Confederates took everything about 
the house.” 

I selected six good men from my company, then told the 
citizen to lead the way, and that if there were any treachery 
on his part, if he led us into ambush, he would be the first man 
we would kill. I told Dan Stickle, one of the six, who was 
the best shot in the company, and a hunter by occupation when 
at home, to kill the man the instant we were attacked and to 
walk near the horse. Dan kept closely behind the citizen, car- 
rying his gun at “port arms,” capped, his black eyes never 
leaving the person I had told him to destroy in case of treach- 
ery. I can yet see his dark eyes and resolute, swarthy face 
as he glared at the man. The citizen coolly remarked, “If I’m 
foolin’ you, you may shoot me; [ll not blame you.” 

We had not gone far when we came to a clear space of 
ground with a better view of the country, and with a house 
in the distance. 

“Yonder is my home; there’s where your wounded are, 
and below that, in that little cabin, is where I left the Confed- 
erate soldiers; that is the house old John Brown lived in when 
he started on that raid to Harpers Ferry.” 

This revelation so interested me that I almost forgot my 
caution, or that there was any danger. 

“The cabin the soldiers are in is where Brown kept his 
pikes and guns before he attacked Harpers Ferry; we will go 
there first. I knew the old man well; I was living on the 
Myers farm, north of where Brown lived. He was a good, 


296 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


honest man, but I think a little crazy on niggers.” 

We all knew we were not far from the John Brown farm 
when in camp on Maryland Heights; this we had been told by 
citizens who came to our lines, and by our own recollection of 
the unfortunate affair. 

Now we came to the cabin, nearly hidden in tall weeds and 
willows, by the side of a marshy spring. It had, I have no 
doubt, been a slave quarter in its better days. The citizen 
looked in. 

“There is no one here; maybe they’re out in the brush, 
Pll look upstairs.” 

He ascended a ladder that led to the little loft. 

“Come down; you won't be hurt; it’s all right; they'll treat 
you well. Come down!’ 

He then descended, followed by three greasy, soiled, sad- 
looking men in grey, who cast furtive glances toward us. I 
asked them where their guns and accoutrements were, to which 
one of them replied that they had thrown them away when 
they dropped out of the moving column before daylight. 

“To what regiment did you belong?” 

Two answered as from Virginia, the other, North Caro- 
lina. 

I then asked them if they were not hungry, to which all 
promptly answered in the broadest Southern dialect, “Vary, — 
sah; vary.” 

My boys were prompt in opening their haversacks, which 
were yet full, as it was not noon, giving the poor fellows all 
they could eat. When they experienced this act of kindness, 
the apprehensive expression on their faces entirely disap- 
peared, and in their place a smile could be seen flickering. 
We enjoyed the relief afforded the forlorn looking Confeder- 
ates as they greedily devoured the hard bread and raw pork. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 297 


I sent the prisoners back under guard of two men and 
then hurried to the John Brown house, probably a hundred 
steps away. 

“T am glad you came; it saves me a ride. I would have 
gone to your lines the day after the fight and reported the con- 
dition of the wounded men, but the Confederates wouldn’t let 
me through. I couldn’t do much for the poor, suffering fel- 
lows. I have nothing for them, for their wounds or for them 
to eat. Everything about my house that a man could eat was 
taken; every pig, duck and chicken is gone, and they would 
have taken this old hoss but he’s too lame for ’em.” 

By this time we had arrived at the house. As we came to 
the porch we were met by a number of glad fellows who could 
walk, and who thanked God that we came, shaking hands with 
us over and over again. Want of attention caused their 
wounds to be in a painful condition; several I saw must have 
suffered agony, but I did not hear a groan or complaint. It 
was the instinct of the soldier that restrained any lack of forti- 
tude. All that were not too badly wounded first asked for 
something to eat, as the Confederate surgeon who had had 
them in charge departed, leaving but little for wounds or ap- 
petite. Those who were able to walk, I made haste to send 
back to the battalion with a guide, making a statement to 
the colonel of the condition of the affairs at the Brown house, 
and asking him to send the ambulance and surgeons immedi- 
ately with what rations could be collected from the men for 
the use of those who could not be taken in the ambulance. 

A very young soldier particularly attracted my attention. 
I can see him now with the look of death in his unnaturally 
bright eyes and flushed face, hopeful and happy in his semi- 
delirium. He had a mortal wound, but was not so delirious 
that he did not know we were friends and were there to re- 


298 GENERAL PuHit H. SHERIDAN 


lieve him. When he heard me speak of the ambulance he 
beckoned me to-come to him. I sat on the floor beside him— 
all the wounded were on the floor. Ina weak voice he said: 

“Let me go with the first load; I am in a hurry to get back 
to Ohio. The war is over now and I'd like to see mother. 
The last letter I received from father he said she was very 
sick and might not live long.” 

I asked him if he thought he could stand it to be moved 
in the ambulance. 

“Oh, yes; there isn’t much the matter with me. There’s 
a boy over there—no use to send him; he'll die soon.” 

The one to whom he referred had but a slight wound on 
the leg. 

“If I can get home and mother is well enough to nurse 
me I'll be well in a week.” 

_ The wound was through the bowels. I knew from that 
and his looks that he could not live many hours, and to make 
those as pleasant as was in my power, I promised he should go 
in the first load. I knew from his mental condition that he 
would not be conscious of the presence of the ambulance unless 
he was told. This I cautioned the citizen to keep from him, 
fearing an effort on the boy’s part to get out, which would re- 
sult in immediate death. When I made him the promise he 
thanked me in a whisper, with a grateful smile on his pretty 
lips. 

An orderly now arrived to tell me the battalion was re- 
turning to camp; we should follow. I gave Compton—that 
was the name. of the man who lived on the Brown farm—a 
little money to buy the Ohio boy something nourishing should 
he live, charging him again to keep him ignorant of the ar- 
rival and departure of the ambulance. 

Before leaving I took another look at this historic house. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 299 


I found it the worse for wear and the elements. It was a 
two-story, weather-board frame, with double porch, fronting 
south. It had probably been painted once, but time had long 
since robbed it of all semblance to paint. Then we started. 
Before we were quite out of sight I turned once more to look 
at the old weather-beaten house from which John Brown had 
taken his departure to play the principal part in the prelude to 
a tragedy, one of the greatest and bloodiest of modern times, 
a prelude that bewildered and astonished the North, carrying 
with it rage, fear and hatred in the South. It was the same 
road I was then treading towards Harpers Ferry that the old 
man’s “body and soul marched on” to realize and carry out 
his wild, visionary schemes, with a bravery, determination and 
fortitude born of fanaticism, worthy of better judgment, but 
which, at least to him, had some prospect of success. History 
has disclosed the truth and completed the story of his desperate 
exploit and his willing and pathetic sacrifice, for which he lost 
his life, but gained his object even after death. 

A few days later the citizen who occupied the house came 
to our lines when I was on outpost duty. I inquired after the 
badly wounded boy, and was not surprised to learn that he 
had died the night after we left. Then my next question was, 
“How did he die?” 

“Happy! He was under the impression that he was on 
his way home. At times he thought he was at home talking 
to his mother, telling her of the battle. I could understand all 
he said about an hour before he died. ‘I felt like running, 
mother, when I saw the men in gray coming upon us so thick 
and fast in front and rear, but I stood up to it, for I thought 
father would never forgive me if the boys should write home 
that I ran. So I stood there firing until I was struck—then I 
couldn’t run. I fell, but I am glad it is no worse, and you're 


300 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


so good to me I'll soon be well.’ He raised his head. I asked 
if he wanted a drink of water; he did not answer. I thought 
it strange, for he asked for water every time I passed him, he 
was so feverish. I went away to attend to another. An hour or 
two after I heard him call out: “Company F! Company F! 
This way! Don’t you see our lines are broken?’ I went to 
him again and asked what he wanted, but still received no re- 
ply. I could see he was about gone. Two hours later I looked 
at him and he was dead.” 

I asked the farmer if there were any letters or papers by 
which to identify the boy, but he said there was none. He 
supposed they had been taken or thrown away by his captors. 

“Two of your surgeons came the next day after you left, 
and brought the ambulance again. The driver and I dug his 
grave a little east of the cabin where you took the prisoners.” 

We remained in the vicinity of Maryland Heights for 
nearly two weeks after our visit to the John Brown house. 
Then when we heard that Early had gone up the valley again 
after he had threatened Washington, and that he was so far 
away that there was no danger, we took courage and went 
bravely in pursuit, crossing the Potomac, eager to punish the 
foe who had kept us so long in a hot miserable camp. Our 
hurried advance on Early reminded me of the smaller whipped 
dog, which, when the larger and victorious one has gone out 
of sight, becomes brave. 

We had not pursued more than a day when we heat that 
the enemy had halted at Winchester ; then our general thought 
it prudent that we, too, should halt, leaving the right wing of 
our battalion at Brown’s crossing on the Baltimore & Ohio 
railroad, while the left, to which we belonged, continued to 
march five or six miles southwest to a hamlet called Kearney- 
ville, which Sheridan made historic a few months later by a 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 301 


fierce cavalry fight. Here was a crossroad where it was 
deemed necessary that a strict guard should be kept to prevent 
contraband articles from being carried by a sympathizer to 
the Confederacy. 

I received an order the next morning after our arrival ap- 
pointing me provost marshal, my office to be in a cabin near 
the crossing. I was entitled to a guard of six men and one 
corporal; this was Perry Hall, the Vermonter. I had the 
selecting of the guard, and of course, took John Sheridan as 
one, for he must be entertainer and story-teller—how else 
could we, with any degree of comfort and enjoyment, spend 
the long days, weeks, and possibly months, without some one 
to entertain us? Yes, we had Hall, the wag, and Sheridan, 
the story-teller! 

On our arrival we found the cabin with only one room and 
a dirty floor; it had been a slave quarter. Our part of the 
battalion was about a half-mile distant. The greater part of 
the day was spent in cleaning house and toward evening it pre- 
sented a cozy and comfortable appearance, with berths erected 
to accommodate the whole number. The pinnacle of good 
fortune was now at hand. How we pitied the poor “devils” 
we had left behind us without tents and cooking utensils. 

A Mr. Rogers came in that day and invited me to dine 
with him, a piece of diplomacy on his part I think to make 
himself “solid” with us, as we were in a position officially to 
grant favors to citizens. Before leaving his home I inquired 
if there was anyone living near there whom I could get to 
wash my shirts. He knew of no one except a poor woman 
who lived a few miles out on the Winchester road, whose hus- 
band was in the Confederate army. She would be glad to 
earn a little money as she was very poor. 

To this house I started late in the afternoon, and I found 


302 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


a delicate-looking woman with a sickly-looking daughter. I 
stated my business and she gladly promised to have the shirts 
washed by the next afternoon. I then started back. 

We had constructed such comfortable quarters that I hur- 
ried back to enjoy them. Not long after supper we retired to 
our luxurious couches, congratulating ourselves that there 
was not another set of men in the Shenandoah Valley who 
had such a soft snap; and again we pitied the poor fellows 
whom we had left that morning, for they would soon take the 
storm, that was then threatening in the West, while we could 
be “as snug as a bug ina rug.’’ We wondered how long this 
sinecure would continue; no one guessed less than two months. 
Someone told us the captain who had preceded us had re- 
mained five months. Then we all agreed to go to sleep, say- 
ing we would write home tomorrow telling the folks of our 
good fortune. ; 

Oh, the mutability of human affairs and the uncertainties 
of war! We had not been asleep more than three or four 
hours when the man on duty outside halted someone. I heard 
the call to “halt!’? When a reply was made I recognized the 
voice of one of my sergeants, who told the guard to waken 
us as Early was coming back and would be here in a few 
hours. My first impression was that it was a cruel joke to 
startle us from our comfortable beds, so I called out to the ser- 
geant to go back to his quarters, that I did not enjoy such ill- 
timed jokes; that he should know better than to disturb us in 
that manner. His answer was that the whole battalion was 
up cooking and packing, preparing to fall back again. I told 
the guard to go up to the hill where he could have a view of 
the camp and to report to me quickly. On his return he said 
the sergeant was correct, the whole camp was ablaze. Then 
there was a hurrying to and fro to evacuate our comfortable 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 303 


little house which had only sheltered us a few hours. It was 
a dark, threatening night. 

Now I thought of my shirts that I had taken to the poor 
woman on the Winchester road, and this was the road over 
which the enemy would come. I needed those shirts badly; 
the one I was wearing was ragged and soiled. I determined to 
go out for them; they were good and new, even though they 
were “rough.” There would be no trouble getting out, but 
returning would be quite another matter. I explained the situ- 
ation to the guard at the road, telling him I would return in 
an hour; but it was possible he might be relieved meantime, 
and his successor, nervous and panic-stricken, might shoot 
without halting me, as all I knew by this time was that Early 
was hourly expected. I had gone thus far and did not want 
to return, so I made such quick time from that point to the 
blacksmith’s wife as would have done credit to a professional 
sprinter. After considerable calling and knocking I heard a 
voice within: 

“Who is there?” 

“T’m the man who left the shirts yesterday.” 

“Oh, sir; they are not washed yet. I told you to come to- 
morrow afternoon.” 

I then told her of Early’s coming; that he would be here 
within an hour. 

“Throw my shirts out of the window; I’ll find them and 
hurry back. It is unhealthy for a Union soldier to remain 
here much longer.” 

“Are you sure General Early 1s returning ?” 

“Fearfully sure, madam.” 

“Then, thank God! I shall see my husband again; he is 
with Early. He belongs to a Confederate battery.” 

In her happiness at the prospect of seeing her husband 


304. GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


again she seemed to have forgotten my request to throw out 
my shirts if they were upstairs where she was; but she and 
her daughter were otherwise engaged in congratulating and 
dressing themselves, the daughter as much overjoyed and ex- 
cited as the mother, as I could hear by their remarks. What 
meant happiness to them was the opposite to me. 

Every man knows how unreasonably long it takes a 
woman to dress, but I thought this case would have demoral- 
ized even the patience of Job. I came to that conclusion as I 
stood there looking up the Winchester road with “fear and 
trembling.” Then they finally came down with a lighted 
candle and invited me in, which courteous act I was prompt 
to decline. I kept my eye on the Winchester pike. Should I 
have seen a cow or horse coming from that direction I am 
sure, in my state of mind, I should have taken it for Early’s 
army and left without ceremony or shirts. 

I received a bundle, and tendered the now happy woman 
the amount customary for washing, but she declined, for two 
reasons: first, she had not washed the shirts, and second, I 
had brought her the glad tidings of her husband’s return. 
But, knowing their needy circumstances, I laid the pittance on 
the table and bade them good-night. Then I made one of the 
fastest marches on record tocamp. Much to my relief, I found 
the pickets withdrawn preparatory to the retreat. I arrived in 
camp in a drenching rain. 

Mark the instability of war, and how little the enemy re- 
garded my ease and comfort; how very impolite! 

As stated before, I only enjoyed my new office and cozy 
cabin a few hours. Is it any wonder that I did not mourn at 
the complete destruction of our persistent and relentless foe 
and his army when Sheridan met and crushed them a few 
months later? 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 305 


When we arrived at Brown’s crossing, where the right 
wing had been camping, we waited for them to form, and then 
continued the retreat. While waiting two or three cannon 
shots were heard not far away. The enemy was having a 
“brush” with Col. Mulligan’s rear. The echoes of the sounds 
had scarcely died away when one of our field officers quickly 
mounted his horse, called the battalion into line, and we ex- 
pected the enemy to make its appearance. My boy called my 
attention to another field officer, saying: 

“Look, Captain; look! See how his hands shake! He 
can scarcely hold the bridle reins. I am ashamed of him.” 

Then, with a contemptuous smile, he kept his eye upon that 
officer, who was falling in his estimation. Should the boy be 
living yet, he doubtless thinks of that officer with disrespect 
and contempt. 

The morning we were so cruelly driven out of our little 
office into the rain by Early a mysterious incident occurred 
that was not explained until several months after the war. 
Then we learned the fate of the missing soldier. His name, 
or the company he belonged to, I cannot now remember, but 
he was from our county, as were nearly all the members of 
this regiment. 

When the last scout came in and reported the short dis- 
tance between us and the enemy’s advance, it was the duty of 
the commanding officer to have the outposts collected and 
brought in before we marched. We were now ready to move. 
In the hurry, darkness and rain a soldier somewhat out of 
the line, or chain, of guards was overlooked; it was thought 
he had gone to some undergrowth for shelter, therefore had 
been unobserved. He had heard when he took his post that 
the enemy was expected, and he knew we must retreat; he had 
also heard the challenge of the sentinels as the officer came up 


306 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


to relieve him; he heard the rattle of the canteens and bayonets 
die away as the relieved men marched back to camp, but no 
relief came to him; he thought there might have been an 
oversight but he could not tell, and he knew that to leave his 
post without orders was punishable with death. The sacred 
fire of duty must have burned brightly, for he consoled himself 
during the vigil by thinking that there must be good reason 
for his remaining. His instructions as a soldier were that he 
must always remain faithful to the duties assigned him and 
under no conditions leave an outpost without orders to do so. 
When his absence was finally explained I remembered that 
there had been some talk of a soldier being missing, and con- 
jectures that he must have been killed or taken prisoner. 

A few weeks after we reached home there came to our 
county a pale and emaciated ex-soldier, an exchanged prisoner 
of war from Libby Prison; he was on his way to an adjoining 
county, his home. He had stopped to visit some friends and 
relations of the man who had been missed from our regiment, 
bringing a message that explained the mysterious loss of the 
absent comrade. The story of the ex-soldier was that he had 
been in Andersonville prison when the soldier died; that they 
had become friends, feeling akin to each other as their homes 
were so near together. They had been messmates in prison; 
our comrade had reached Andersonville with a badly wounded 
shoulder, dying about ten days after his arrivel. His wound 
had not been regarded as dangerous at first, the messenger 
said, but exposure, with lack of nourishment and medical at- 
tention, had so aggravated his condition that in less than a 
week death threatened him. We all know how cruelly swift 
was the shaft of death in that horrible prison camp. At the 
end of the week he realized his condition, and, calling his 
messmate to him, said: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 307 


“Tf I don’t get well, and you are fortunate enough to get 
home, tell my friends and the boys of my regiment that when 
they left me in the woods the morning Early drove us out 
of Kearneyville I supposed I had been left there intention- 
ally. I knew that under some circumstances men would be 
kept in their places and sacrificed to keep the enemy back. I 
thought a few others might be near me for the same purpose. 
If we could do a little fighting this would give the others a 
longer time to save themselves and get the stores away. I 
staid there until after daylight without seeing or hearing a 
person. Then I saw a line of gray skirmishers approaching. 
They were cautiously sneaking up; I commenced firing, which 
was quickly returned. I kept this up for some time, when- 
ever I could see anyone; then I found they were getting 
around me, and just as I made this discovery I was wounded. 
Of course, I could do nothing but surrender, which they called 
upon me to do. I. did this to the first Johnny that came to 
me. I cannot blame myself for staying at my post, as I 
did not know I had been overlooked. I was a new soldier 
and did not know the ways of war. If you get out of here 
promise me you will go to father and mother and Mary— 
they will tell you where she lives—and tell them that I died 
here, and give them all the particulars; for our enemies at 
home might say that I was a deserter. I would have written, 
possibly a letter might have reached them, but you see [ could 
not write, the wound is in the right shoulder; I can’t hold a 
pen, and, thinking I would soon get better, I kept putting off 
getting you or someone else to write. Father will gladly de- 
fray whatever expense this may be to you and be grateful 
as long as he lives for your removing the stain that might 
rest upon me and the family, under the suspicion of my hav- 
ing been a deserter.” 


308 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


Two days later he was dead from blood poisoning. His 
case was not dissimilar to that of the Roman sentinel whose 
remains were found at a recent excavation of the principal 
gate of Pompeii, standing at his post with shield and drawn 
sword waiting for death rather than to abandon his duty. 

The 1st of August, 1864, found us again occupying Mary- 
land Heights. Then we heard a rumor (one is always hear- 
ing rumors during war time) that General Sheridan had been 
assigned to the newly mapped out “Middle Military Depart- 
ment.” This embraced the Shenandoah Valley where we 
‘-had been driven about so unceremoniously. My feelings were 
somewhat conflicting when the rumor was confirmed. He 
must now fight in an unlucky field, one that had been the 
eraveyard of so many promising reputations, for we had, as 
I have stated previously, been very unfortunate here up to 
this time. Our losses were not all due to bad generalship, for 
when we pushed up this valley there were nearly a dozen 
passes or defiles that the enemy’s army could come through 
and attack our rear. Thus they had an immense advantage 
over us. Again, Early’s army was largely recruited from the 
Shenandoah; the recruits knew every cowpath. 

But, with all these dangers and disadvantages, I heard 
of Sheridan’s coming with confidence, for I knew him well 
enough to know that there would be an intelligent effort to ex- 
tricate us from the confusion and mismanagement that had 
seemed to prevail wherever we had gone. I believed they 
could never catch him napping. There was an impression 
that he was reckless and brave and dashing, but I knew that, 
like Wellington, “He had an infinite capacity for taking 
pains.” To surprise Phil Sheridan would be almost impos- 
sible; to deefat him would be at an awful cost. 

I read in my old diary that it was on the 15th day of 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 309 


August that some soldiers came into our camp and told us 
Sheridan was coming up the Potomac on the towpath with 
his cavalry. I borrowed a field glass, secured a leave of ab- 
sence for John Sheridan and myself and we ascended to the 
summit of the mountain. When we arrived at this point a 
beautiful, impressive war scene presented itself. For ten 
miles the north bank of the stream could be seen crowded with 
cavalry. From our elevated position the horses looked to be 
not much larger than sheep. The men reminded me of 
“Brownies,” when viewed with naked eye. Entranced by the 
spectacle, we kept watching it until our leave was up. 

That night the 19th corps came in; every hill and valley 
about us was covered with soldiers. I could see from the 
preparations about us that this valley was to be the battle- 
ground for that military department. 

About a week later I heard that for the present Gen. Sher1- 
dan’s headquarters would be Harpers Ferry, about three miles 
from our camp. At this time it was my duty to communicate 
to the brothers that their brother John was ill with fever, his 
condition becoming serious. I also desired to see them per- 
sonally, as I had not seen either since the day after the battle 
at Perryville, two years before. I was disappointed in not 
finding either in.camp; they had gone out on a reconnoissance 
that morning in the vicinity of Halltown. 

Col. Burr, in his life of General Sheridan, thus describes 
his personality on his entrance to the Shenandoah Valley: 

General Sheridan in August, 1864, was, though small in 
stature, a very model for a soldier. He was molded as if in 
bronze. Not an ounce of superfluous flesh was to be seen on 
that energetic frame. He bore in every line and motion the 
outward evidence of concentrated energy, while his face and 
head were the picture of vitalized mental power. Lincoln had 


310 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


looked into the little trooper’s brain, and with that deep, pene- 
trative, patient glance of his, had fathomed its capacity, and 
grown confident of its ability to succeed. The likeness in— 
mold and line to Napoleon Bonaparte at Sheridan’s age was 
being generally commented upon. Stanton came to observe 
it later; and after Sheridan’s historic ride a little later, it is 
recorded that Mr. Stanton had in his room, on the marble 
mantel, a little book of about five hundred pages, which con- 
tained, as a frontispiece, a likeness of Napoleon; and, says a 
writer in the Washington Star, he took it, and, turning to the 
frontispiece, handed it to the President, saying that there was 
a resemblance about the forehead and bust. Sometime prior 
to this, when our armies were being slaughtered by piecemeal 
in Virginia, Mr. Stanton had received a letter from some 
prominent person calling his attention to a saying of Napo- 
leon’s that one commander for an army was better than two 
armies with independent commanders. “He then told me to 
get him his book on Napoleon from the library. They talked 
for some time about General Sheridan, who had, several days 
before his Cedar Creek battle, defeated Early, and I heard Mr. 
Stanton then say to the President that Grant and Sheridan 
would end the war very soon with such fighting.” 

I think it was Colonel Forsythe whom I met at head- 
quarters and to whom I communicated the condition of the 
sick brother. Captain M. V. Sheridan came at an early hour 
the following morning bringing such medicine and delicacies 
as could be obtained. The general was making another recon- 
noissance to Charlestown that day and could not see him. 

Of course almost my whole company stood around Captain 
Sheridan during the hour he was with us, to hear. the news, 
and to learn, if possible, something of the future. My recol- 


lection of what he said as the boys stood about is that he had 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 311 


been, and would be, employed in gathering the cavalry who 
were scattered through Maryland and Virginia in small de- 
tachments, guarding little posts and doing no good. 

“Phil wants to mass men, and then when they are in good 
condition and we get well acquainted with this country, its 
roads, streams and general topography, and do some ma- 
neuvering, ‘you may look to see the fur fly.’”” And now we 
all know that it was a true prophecy, brief as it was. 

Requesting me to keep them advised daily as to John’s 
condition, he mounted his horse and rode hurriedly away, for 
there was business on hand at General Sheridan’s head- 
quarters. 

Five weeks passed and nothing occurred with Sheridan 
to give the future a brighter outlook. Occasionally we could 
see a northern paper in which was asked, “What is Sheridan 
doing? Will he, too, disappoint us?’ 

Yes, the outlook that month of August was extremely 
dark. A camp rumor came to us one day that Sheridan had 
driven Early back as far as Winchester; then we heard the 
following day that he had turned upon Sheridan and was 
slowly pressing him back again. 

I met a cavalryman in Harpers Ferry about this time. He 
looked as if he had just returned from the front, and so he 
had. I asked for news from Sheridan. “It is nothing good; 
Early is pushing him down the valley again; I think he will 
be here by tomorrow.” 

I felt greatly depressed; my hopes went down to zero, 
but I replied to this discouraging report: 

“Wait a little while ’till Sheridan learns something of this 
country and just what he has to contend with, then he will 
fight until either he or the enemy is destroyed. I know him; 
I served with him in the West.” 


312 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


He rode away, not believing my prediction. 

The next morning I again borrowed a field glass and was 
permitted to ascend the mountain, taking John Sheridan with 
me as I had done more than five weeks before. He was now 
convalescent. The morning was clear and we had a fair view 
up the valley, with a range of about ten miles. Within that 
distance we could see two long skirmish lines, the one of blue, 
the other of grey, with heavy reserves in the rear ready to sup- 
port. Once it looked as if there would be a general engage- 
ment, but it was nothing but a brisk skirmish fight. In the 
midst of rapid firing there arose dust and dense smoke with, 
I thought, the sound of volley firing, but when the dust and 
smoke were swept away by a breeze we could see the reserves 
and supports—they had not moved. Looking a little longer, 
the sight gave us a chill—the blue line was falling back. 

As already remarked, the view from the mountain up the 
valley was magnificent, but we were now being confronted 
with a sight sad and depressing. A few miles to the north, 
hidden from our view by the forests, had been the home of 
old John Brown, with its sad memories; in front of us was 
Sheridan, falling back, retreating from Early. It was this 
that clutched at our hearts. We thought he feared to fight his 
adversary. To the left and east could be seen Charleston, 
where the last scene of the John Brown tragedy was enacted. 

Is it any wonder we begun the descent in gloom and de- 
spondency? With hearts full of anxiety we turned our steps 
downward. As we descended I did not tell John Sheridan 
my thoughts, for I knew how keenly he must be suffering. 
I would not add to his pain. I remember his homely expres- 
sion as we were descending: oF 

“T am fearful that Phil has bitten off more than he can 
chew by taking command of this department. I wish he had 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 313 


remained with his Western Division. They will whip him 
down here as they have all his predecessors; this has always 
been an unlucky valley for us.” 

Then we hurried down the rocky slope, thinking our regi- 
ment might be ordered across the river in case Early followed 
Sheridan too closely. Neither of us dreamed, in our unmili- 
tary minds, that the enemy was being lured to his destruction. 

Now mutterings of discontent broke out again in the 
Northern papers; many began to think the confidence Grant 
had in Sheridan had been misplaced. Six weeks of doubt, 
uncertainty and gloom had pervaded the North. The patient, 
considerate Grant became impatient and came to see Sheridan. 
He had with him a plan he intended to submit, but after a 
short interview he found, to his joy, that Sheridan had ma- 
tured a better one. When it was explained to him he gave it 
his approval in that laconic but all-sufficient order, “Go in!’ 
Then there was no more deliberation and delay. Every detail 
had been worked out; every contingency had been provided 
for and the hour for action had arrived. As stated, Grant had 
a plan in his pocket, but he was so well pleased with Sheridan’s 
that he did not show it. 

After the war, on one of Sheridan’s annual visits to our 
village, I was talking of this period of that campaign. I told 
him of the unpleasant fears his brother and I had experienced 
as we watched him from the mountain while he retreated be- 
fore the enemy. ‘“‘We came to the conclusion that you were 
afraid to fight Early.” He smiled, and said: 

“That was just the impression I was trying to make. I 
was getting out of the way to give him ample opportunity and 
encouragement to cross the Potomac again. I was leaving all 
the bars down and the gate open to make the temptation great, 
and at one time I thought he would cross.” 


314 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


“And what would have been the result had he crossed?” 

“I think his utter destruction in a few days. Soon after 
that he became cautious, then I could do nothing but maneuver 
to take the offensive.” 

During this conversation I spoke of the famous order he 
received from General Grant, to strip the valley of its grain, 
mills and cattle, the execution of which order had excited so” 
much criticism and given rise to so much bitterness in that 
vicinity. 

Referring to this devastation, General Sheridan said: 

“You would suppose that the burning of the barns and 
mills and the taking of live stock and grain was the most hor- 
rible feature of the war; to hear the talk one would think so. 
General Grant’s object, as well as mine, was to bring the war 
to a speedy close. We knew of no quicker or more merciful 
plan than to destroy the principal granary, the Shenandoah 
Valley. I am sure there is more mercy in destroying supplies 
than in killing their young men, which a continuance of the 
war would entail. If I had a barn full of wheat and a son, I 
would much sooner lose the barn and wheat than my son. 
That rich, productive valley was furnishing vast quantities 
of the wheat and other grain that was used by the Confeder- 
ate army. The question was, must we destroy their supe 
or kill their young men? We chose the former.” 

After a cavalry fight General Merritt had, at Front Royal, 
in which we gained a victory, the “fur” that Capt. Sheridan 
had spoken of commenced to “fly.” 


SOMERSET, OHIO, Jan. 10, 1892. 
Hon. Rospert PRIcE, 
Zanesville, Ohio. 
My Dear Sir:—I received your letter of the 5th. En- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 315 


closed in your letter came the clipping from the ‘Cincinnati 
Commercial Gazette,” containing the story of General Phil 
Sheridan and “Old Bink.’ I had read it. John Sheridan 
came to my room one day last week, handed me the “Wash- 
ington (D. C.) Star,’ and laughingly said, “Here, Greiner, you 
can learn how Phil got his appointment to West Point.” You 
ask me if there is any truth in it, or how much is true. To 
be brief on this point, I can say it is a romance founded on 
some facts. The communication contains many errors. That 
we had “Old Bink” here as a boy and young man, is true. 
He was a playmate of Phil Sheridan and mine. If you have 
read the “Memoirs of Gallant Phil’ you may remember in 
Vol 1, 4th or 5th page, where he refers to his school days 
and teachers, he names two boys as his tempters—Binckley 
and Greiner. It was true we often lured him from school to 
the woods, hunting and fishing, which if our absence was noted 
by the teacher, a terrible thrashing would follow. This boy 
Binckley mentioned in his Memoirs became the poor “Old 
Bink” of the story by Tom Cannon. By way of excusing my- 
self for the part I took in the truancy I shall attempt to de- 
scribe our teachers (masters, we called them). They were 
both cruel cranks, both bachelors, middle-aged—Thorn a 
Virginian, McNanly Irish, both fond of whiskey. From Sat- 
urday morning until Sunday night they were drunk. When 
Monday came they were yet under the effects of the two days’ 
debauch,—sour, ill-tempered and cruel, therefore, this day 
was principally devoted to whipping the boys. Knowing that 
Monday was the day for indiscriminate flogging, it was but ° 
natural we would make an effort to be absent. There would 
come a proposition from one of us to go to the woods; it 
needed no eloquence nor strong argument to act on this sug- 
gestion, and I think it generally came from Bink or myself. 


316 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


Phil was the best boy—not so much inclined to be a truant. 
A few years before his death I was lunching with him in 
Washington, and the conversation drifted to our early days, 
the masters, the girls, the floggings. He held up his hand, 
pointed to a disfigured finger, and said “McNanly did that; 
he was whipping me, and when I threw back my hand to pro- 
tect my rear he struck me on the nail, knocking it loose.” 
“Old Bink” had no claims upon Phil. He never gave him 
the cadetship. It was only our intimacy and companionship 
in youth as common sufferers at the cruel hands of Thorn and 
McNanly that aroused his sympathies when he found him in 
such a forlorn condition in Denver. I shall be charitable and 
say that the story as he related it that night at the mining 
camp at Sierra San Juan was imaginary in the distempered 
brain of “Old Bink,” which was far gone from the effects of 
whiskey and morphine. He was not a liar when a boy, and 
some of those errors may have crept into the memory of Tom 
Cannon, the writer of the story, as eighteen years had inter- 
vened between the scenes he described and the writing. It 
is not true that Bink’s family was wealthy and influential. 
Comparatively the Sheridans were much better off financially 
than the Binckleys, as they were always the owners of their 
homes, while the Binckleys were not. They were influential 
only so far as remarkable brightness of intellect and good 
moral standing would secure to them. The boys were by 
nature brilliant talkers and writers, fond of ease, and im- 
provident. The younger brother, Milton, far less talented 
than “Old Bink,” was assistant attorney general under Henry 
Stansbury during President Johnson’s administration. 
About ten years ago he, too, came to a sad end. In reduced 
circumstances, with domestic troubles, he became despondent, 
and threw himself in Lake Michigan at Chicago. One brother 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 317 


was killed in an Iowa or Missouri regiment during the Civil 
War. Neither is it true that “Old Bink’s” uncle represented 
this district in Congress. The writer of the story may have 
heard “Old Bink” call the Congressman “Uncle Tom Ritch- 
ey.’ He was often called that. His kindness and fondness 
for boys prompted them to this familiarity and affection. 
The Congressman was in no way related to the tramp, but 
took an interest in the family and was kind to them. The true 
story of Phil’s appointment was contingent on McGinnis fail- 
ing in his examination. When McGinnis returned home Phil 
Sheridan promptly wrote to the Congressman, seeking the ap- 
pointment. Immediately came an answer, inclosing his war- 
rant for the class of 1848. It is not true that the old tramp 
went through college, but I am ready to believe he was a geolo- 
gist and metallurgist, as the writer of the story claims, and I 
have no doubt the old wanderer had studied almost every sci- 
ence and could talk learnedly on almost any subject. But the 
story of Phil Sheridan crying when he heard the appointment 
came to Binckley is so unlike him that to me it is absurd and 
ridiculous. He would as a boy suffer anything without be- 
traying emotion. 

Referring to the most sensational and dramatic part of 
Cannon’s story, the meeting of General Sheridan and the un- 
kempt, ragged tramp that stood on the street in Denver as the 
shouting, restless, surging mass of humanity was waiting to 
see the hero of Cedar Creek, Five Forks and Appamattox, 
and when seen by Sheridan and recognized as his playmate, 
halted the carriage, dismounted, threw his arms about the 
feeble old wanderer and kissed him, I do not believe. Sheri- 
dan was not emotional nor sensational; his kisses were not 
numerous. I remember at our little parties when it came his 
turn to kiss the girls it would always be with a blush and 


318 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


hesitancy. I do not doubt he took the old wreck in the car- 
riage, and that “Old Binck” was well clad and had money in 
his pocket after meeting General Sheridan, for his generous 
and sympathetic nature would not see an old playmate in the 
condition “Bink’’ was and not relieve him. I never heard 
General Sheridan speak of seeing “Old Bink” in the West, but 
Col. M. V. Sheridan told me he saw him clad and in appear- 
ance as described in this episode. General Sheridan would 
have left the company of Emperor William of Germany, King 
of. England or Bismarck to have met an old schoolmate—one 
with whom he had ever had an intimacy or fondness. As 
an instance, on one of his yearly visits home after the war 
I called to pay my respects, and was informed that he was 
sleeping, but they would arouse him. I objected, saying I 
would call in the evening, but his pretty wife and mother said 
that when he retired he requested that in case I or any of his 
friends called he should be aroused. They insisted; I sub- 
mitted. When he came down I apologized for the disturb- 
ance, but he repeated the request he had made to his mother 
and wife, and said, “You know I do not stay long, nor come 
often, therefore when I do come I want to see you, and that 
is why I left the word with mother.” 


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Decoration Day, 1890. 


Rest well, great soldier, now that war ig over, 
A rich life’s harvest in our hearts you reap! 

Soundly, beneath the buttercups and clover, 
After the battle as a child you sleep. 


SSS: 


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Tis meet that mid the friends you loved to cherish— 
Where first your glorious warrior-star arose, 

And memories of such valor ne’er shall perish— 
Brave dust like yours should find its last repose. 


A hero on the field to heroes holy, 

In the front rank where imminent danger camel 
A hero among heroes lying lowly 

Until the Captain calls each patriot name! 


Soldier, sleep on beside the turbid river 
Till martial music and the morning gun 

Of angel armies, where the sword-fliames quiver, 
Awake the camp lit by the Conqueror’s sun! 


—David Graham Adee. Ai : Pitiient 
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CHAPTER XVII. 


THE HEROIC VERSE OF MR. READ, “SHERIDAN’S RIDE” —ECHOES 
AT PHIL’S HOME OF THE BATTLE ‘““STWENTY MILES AWAY.” 


Department he hastened back to his command, stop- 
ping the first night at Martinsburg and the second at 
Winchester. 
The heroic verse in which Mr. Read so graphically de- 
scribes General Sheridan’s wonderful ride is here quoted in 
full: 


A FTER General Sheridan had conferred with the War 


SHERIDAN’S RIDE. . 


Up from the south at break of day, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 

The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain’s door, 
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 


And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon’s bar; 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, } 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 319 


But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down; 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night, 

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 

As if he knew the terrible need; 

He stretched away with his utmost speed; 
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 


Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
The dust, like smoke from the cannon’s mouth; 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 

The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master, 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; 

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 


Under his spurning feet the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed. 

And the landscape sped away behind, 

Like an ocean flying before the wind, 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 

But lo! he is nearing his heart’s desire; 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 


The first that the general saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. 


320 GENERAL PuiL H. SHERIDAN 


What was done? what to do? a glance told him both; 
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, 
He dashed down the line, ’mid a storm of huzzas, 
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril’s play, 
He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
“T have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester, down to save the day.” 
Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! 
Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! 
And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky, 
The American soldiers’ Temple of Fame; 
There with the glorious general’s name, 
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, 
“Here is the steed that saved the day, 
_ By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
From Winchester, twenty miles away!’ 


The battle of Winchester, or Opequan, was fought on the 
19th of September. The enemy, defeated and demoralized, 
made a halt at Fisher’s Hill, a very strong position. 

I cannot dwell on the details of this splendid victory of 
General Sheridan’s which was won on the 22nd. At one 
time it looked as if he had compassed the complete destruction 
of Early’s army, but owing to the failure of Generals Torbert 
and Averell of the cavalry to promptly do their duty, the 
enemy was permitted to escape in their rout, as the infantry 
could not successfully overtake them. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 321 


General Sheridan was greatly mortified and chagrined at 
the feeble efforts of those officers. After receiving informa- 
tion of the lack of zeal and neglect on the part of Averell, with 
a report from him of how little he had accomplished, Sheridan 
sent him the following note in reply, which is so characteristic 
of the man that I cannot resist reproducing it: 


“HEADQUARTERS MippLe Miitrary Division, 
“Woodstock, Va., Sept. 23, 1864. 


““BREVET MAjyOoR-GENERAL AVERELL: 

“Your report and report of signal-officer received. I do 
not want you to let the enemy bluff you or your command, and 
I want you to distinctly understand this note. I do not advise 
rashness, but I do desire resolution and actual fighting, with 
necessary casualties, before you retire. There must now be no 
backing or filling by you without a superior force of the enemy 
actually engaging you. 

“P. H. SHERIDAN, 
“Major-General Commanding.” 


A few days after General Averell was relieved of his com- 
mand as he was not the kind of fighter Sheridan desired. 

Sheridan’s victorious army followed the enemy as far as 
Harrisonburg, where he camped for several days, then retired 
down the valley, desolating it so as to make it untenable by 
the enemy. The cavalry as it retired was stretched across the 
country from one mountain range to the other, driving off 
all live stock and destroying all supplies as it advanced. The 
infantry went ahead of the cavalry. On the 6th and 7th of 
October the enemy’s cavalry, reinforced by a brigade from 
Richmond under command of Gen. Rosser, followed Sheri- 


322 _ GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


dan’s cavalry and finally became an annoyance by their har- 
assing rear guard attacks. This made Sheridan angry and 
he concluded to put a stop to it, and this is the plan he took, as 
he tells it in his memoirs: 

During the 6th and 7th of October, the enemy’s horse fol- 
lowed us up, though at a respectful distance. This cavalry was 
now under command of General T. W. Rosser, who on Octo- 
ber 5 had joined Early with an additional brigade from Rich- 
mond. As we proceeded the Confederates gained confidence, 
probably on account of the reputation with which its new com- 
mander had been heralded, and on the third day’s march had 
the temerity to annoy my rear guard considerably. Tired 
of these annoyances, I concluded to open the enemy’s eyes in 
earnest, so that night I told Torbert I expected him either to 
give Rosser a drubbing next morning or get whipped him- 
self, and that the infantry would be halted until the affair was 
over; I also informed him that I proposed to ride out to Round 
Top Mountain to see the fight. When I decided to have Ros- 
ser chastised. Merritt was encamped at the foot of Round 
Top, an elevation just north of Tom’s Brook, and Custer some 
six miles farther north and west, near Tumbling Run. In the 
night Custer was ordered to retrace his steps before daylight 
by the Back road, which is parallel to and about three miles 
from the Valley pike, and attack the enemy at Tom’s Brook 
crossing, while Merritt’s instructions were to assail him on 
the Valley pike in concert with Custer. About 7 in the morn- 
ing Custer’s division encountered Rosser himself with three 
brigades, and while the stirring sounds of the resulting artil- 
lery duel were reverberating through the valley Merritt moved 
briskly to the front and fell upon Generals Lomax and John- 
son on the Valley pike. Merritt, by extending his right, 
quickly established connection with Custer, and the two divi- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND gee) 


sions moved forward together under Torbert’s direction, with 
a determination to inflict on the enemy the sharp and summary 
punishment his rashness had invited. 

The engagement soon became general across the valley, 
both sides fighting mainly mounted. For about two hours 
the contending lines struggled with each other along Tom’s 
Brook, the charges and counter charges at many points being 
plainly visible from the summit of Round Top, where I had 
my headquarters for the time. 

The open country permitting a sabre fight, both sides 
seemed bent on using that arm. In the centre the Confederates 
maintained their position with much stubbornness, and for a 
time seemed to have recovered their former spirit, but at last 
they began to give way on both flanks, and as these receded, 
Merritt and Custer went at the wavering ranks in a charge 
along the whole front. The result was a general smash-up of 
the entire Confederate line, the retreat quickly degenerating 
into a rout the like of which was never before seen. For 
twenty-six miles this wild stampede kept up, with our troop- 
ers close at the enemy’s heels; and the ludicrous incidents of 
the chase never ceased to be amusing topics around the camp- 
fires of Merritt and Custer. In the fight and pursuit Torbert 
took eleven pieces of artillery, with their caissons, all the wag- 
ons and ambulances the enemy had on the ground, and three 
hundred prisoners. Some of Rosser’s troopers fled to the 
mountains by way of Columbia Furnace, and some up the Val- 
ley pike and into the Massanutten Range, apparently not dis- 
covering that the chase had been discontinued till south of 
Mount Jackson they rallied on Early’s infantry. 

After this catastrophe Early reported to General Lee that 
his cavalry was so badly demoralized that it should be dis- 
mounted; and the citizens of the valley, intensely disgusted 


324 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


with the boasting and swaggering that had characterized the 
arrival of the “Laurel Brigade” in this section, baptized the 
action (known to us as Tom’s Brook) the “Woodstock Races,” 
and never tired of poking fun at General Rosser about his pre- 
cipitate and inglorious flight. 

After the Woodstock races, up to the battle of Cedar 
Creek, at which place Sheridan was encamped, there were 
several severe battles; one was fought on our side by General 
Thoburn, another by General Custer, and both resulted in 
small advantages for us. From the aggressive movements of 
the enemy it could be seen that more re-inforeements had ar- 
rived from Richmond. 

By reason of a difference of opinion on the future policy 
of his department between General Sheridan and the War De- 
partment, it was absolutely imperative that General Sheridan 
should visit Washington to confer in person, notwithstanding 
the threatening attitude of the enemy. 

I do not in this book aim to give the details of Sheridan’s 
battles, or to refer to many of them, but I am again tempted 
to describe the first of the valley battles, with a romance close- 
ly connected with it and largely responsible for the battle at 
Winchester. It illustrates the fact that momentous events are 
brought about at times by a trifling incident; also, as in 
nearly all other important occurrences, “there is a woman 
int! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
BATTLE OF WINCHESTER. 


WON ON THE INFORMATION OF A GIRL——-LETTER OF MRS. 
BONSAL, THEN MISS REBECCA I. WRIGHT, TO GENERAL 
SHERIDAN—A TOUCHING INCIDENT AT CEDAR CREEK. 


HAT the famous battle of Winchester won by Gen. 
AR Sheridan was really won on a woman’s information is 

not known to many people, and still fewer realize that 
the heroine of the incident is now working in the Treasury 
Department, where she has a life position, given her in recog- 
nition of her services. Yet such is the case. The lady in ques- 
tion is Mrs. William Bonsal, formerly Miss Rebecca I. 
Wright of Frederick County, Virginia. Miss Wright, like 
many other Southern women, belonged to a family that was 
divided on the question of the Union. She came of a devout 
family of Friends, who condemned war on general principles. 
But as between the Union and the Confederacy, Rebecca was 
a Union woman, while her sister, who looked strikingly like 
her, was a thoroughgoing Confederate. 

Her family occupied a home on Fort Hill in Winchester, 
the place where George Washington built his famous Fort 
Loudon some years prior to the Revolution. Miss Rebecca 
Wright was a school teacher. 

During the summer of 1864 she became acquainted with 
Maj.-Gen. Crook of the Federal army, and upon his finding 
out that she was a Union sympathizer, he remarked as he left 
for headquarters that he might find it necessary to call upon 

325 


326 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


her for help at some future time. Miss Wright then regarded 
the remark as nothing more than a joke. 

One day early in September, however, while she was teach- 
ing the children of her school, she heard a rap at the front 
door. Miss Wright opened the door and found there a negro, 
who explained that he was Jasper Laws, of Berryville. Laws 
was more apprehensive than Miss Wright, for he was a spy, 
and had the Confederates, or even their friends, known of 
his occupation at that particular time his body would have 
been sent to the Potter’s field. 

Laws had been told that there were two sisters who looked 
like twins, and that he must by all means locate Miss Rebecca 
I. Wright alone, for he had been intrusted with a message of 
the utmost importance, the failure to deliver which privately 
would mean disaster for the whole Union army. 

It was some time before he could be convinced that he was 
in the presence of the lady to whom he had been sent, and not 
her sister. When he was finally satisfied, he took from under 
his tongue a small piece of tinfoil and handed it to the teacher, 
telling her that she was expected to send her reply wrapped 
in the same covering. It then dawned upon her that the tinfoil 
contained a message, possibly from General Sheridan, remem- 
bering the remark Gen. Crook had made some weeks before. 

While opening the little package Miss Wright closely ques- 
tioned Laws concerning his movements. She became satisfied 
that he had passed through the Confederate lines from Gen- 
Sheridan’s headquarters, and had carried the note under his 
tongue in the tinfoil so, should circumstances render it neces- 
sary, he could easily swallow the package, note and _ all. 
Telling Laws to return at 3 o’clock in the afternoon for an 
answer, she read the message, of which the following is the 
cEXE: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 327 


“September 15th, 1864. 

“T learn from Maj. Gen. Crook that you are a loyal lady 
and still love the old flag. Can you inform me of the position 
of Early and his forces, the number of divisions in his army, 
and the strength of any or all of them, and his probable or re- 
ported intentions? Have any more troops arrived from Rich- 
mond or are any more coming or reported to be coming? 

“T am, very respectfully, your most obedient servant, 

“P. H. SHERIDAN, 
“Major General Commanding. 
“P. S. You can trust the bearer.” 


MISS WRIGHT'S REPLY. 


Miss Wright was greatly troubled as to what course to 
pursue. She was loyal to the Union and “still loved the flag,” 
but their house was divided against itself. She had already 
seen more war than she had ever dreamed of. Winchester had 
been taken and retaken by the opposing armies many times 
and she wanted to see no more of it. But what if she refused 
to answer Gen. Sheridan’s note? Although a friend of the 
cause he represented, she knew that Sheridan was looked upon 
by the people as a merciless commander and her failure to re- 
spond and give the information he sought might prove disas- 
trous not only to her but to her family. 

The previous day she had had a conversation with a young 
Southern officer who lay wounded in Winchester, and he told 
her of the movements and strength of the Confederate armies 
in the lower valley of the Shenandoah. Miss Wright decided 
to send the substance of the conversation to Gen. Sheridan by 
the negro. Going to her desk in the adjoining room, she 
wrote: 


328 GENERAL Putin H, SHERIDAN 


“September 16th, 1864. 

“T have no communication whatever with the rebels, 
but will tell thee what I know. The division of Gen. Ker- 
shaw, and Cutshaw’s artillery, twelve guns and men, Gen. 
Anderson commanding, has been sent away, and no more 
troops are expected, as they cannot be spared from Richmond. 
I do not know how the troops are situated, but the force is 
much smaller than represented. I will take pleasure hereafter 
in learning all I can of their strength and position, and the 
bearer may call again. 

BD. ©9964 

Miss Wright did not sign the note. 

The negro called promptly at 3 o’clock in the afternoon 
and, after being given a lunch to eat on the way, he left and 
made quick time, unnoticed, to Millwood, a distance of ten 
miles southeast of Winchester. Upon arriving at Millwood, 
which is in Clark county, and not more than six miles from 
his home in Berryville, he was met by a scout, and by him 
and a few others taken to Gen. Sheridan’s headquarters near 
the Shenandoah river. 

Practically every reader knows what happened in and 
about the old town of Winchester on the 19th of September, 
1864, when Sheridan threw his 40,000 men against Early’s 
army of 20,000. The official reports show that it was one of 
the most stubborn and bitterly-fought battles ever waged on 
Virginia soil. Of course, Early’s army retreated, but not 
until there had been great slaughter on both sides, and mili- 
tary experts have repeatedly expressed wonder how the forces 
of Gen. Jubal Early ever stood up under such a torrent of shot 
and shell as long as they did. 

Late in the evening, while the smoke of battle still filled the 
air and the wounded and dead lay on every hand, Gen. Sheri- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F RIEND 329 


dan rode to Miss Wright’s house and, luckily, found her alone. 
His first words were: “Miss Wright, it was entirely upon 
the information that you sent me that I gave battle to Early.” 
He obtained permission to write his official report of the bat- 
tle in her schoolroom. As the sun went down, Gen. Sheridan 
left, telling Miss Wright that she would be remembered for 
the battle she had won. 

‘Miss Wright had no conception of the service rendered un- 
til she received this letter: 


“HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF GULF, 
“NEw ORLEANS, Jan. 7, 1867. 

“My Drar Miss Wricut: You are probably not aware 
of the service you rendered the Union cause by the informa- 
tion you sent me by the colored man a few days before the 
Opequan, on September 19, 1864. It was on this information 
the battle was fought and probably won. The colored man 
gave the note rolled up in tinfoil to the scout, who awaited 
him at Millwood. The colored man had carried it in his 
mouth to that point and delivered it to the scout, who brought 
it to me. 

“By this note I became aware of the true condition of af- 
fairs inside of the enemy’s lines, and gave directions for the 
attack. I will always remember this courageous and patriotic 
action of yours with gratitude, and beg you to accept the watch 
and chain which I send you by General J. W. Forsyth, as a 
memento of September 19, 1864.” 

This letter is put in a double frame, so as to show the writ- 
ing on both sides. On the back of it is an indorsement by 
General Grant, in his own hand, asking an appointment for 
(then) Miss Wright to a position in the Treasury Depart- 
ment. A report was also made by a committee of Congress 


330 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


and ordered printed. While in the Treasury she met and mar- 
ried Mr. Bonsal. 

The watch, a handsome one of gold, bears the inscription: 
“Presented to Rebecca I. Wright, September 10, 1867, by 
General Phil H. Sheridan. A memento of September Ig, 
1864.” 

Through the kindness of Miss Fannie Holmes I was fa- 
vored with the following interview, which will give some 
features of the romantic war incident that has not appeared 
in print heretofore: | 


WASHINGTON, D. C., March 18, 1908. 
227 First St., N. E. 
CApTAIN H. C. GREINER, DEAR Sir: 

According to previous arrangement with Mrs. Bonsal, 
father and I went to her house out in American University 
Park, to get what papers she could find telling of the incident 
of which you wish the details. 

Her home has a beautiful location on the heights above 
Washington, with a magnificent view out over the Potomac 
and to the Blue Ridge mountains in the far distance. It is a 
perfect bower of flowers. Her husband is exceedingly fond 
of them, and it is he who cultivates them. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bonsal were very cordial towards us, and 
were pleased to tell us all their story. I wrote down a few of 
the things she and her husband said, and I shall repeat them 
for you, though, no doubt, they are all to be found in the 
papers. Her home was in Winchester. Her family were 
Quakers. She was teaching in a girls’ school, and at that 
time was the support of the family. A Confederate officer was 
wounded in a house two doors from her home and when he 
began to get well he was anxious to have company to talk to, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 331 


and several of the young folks were told of this desire. On the 
night when he was able to meet the young people, Miss Re- 
becca was the only one at home. The officer had not been 
able to talk much for so long and was so relieved to be able 
to do so, that he talked too freely to the little Quaker school 
teacher, and told many things about conditions in the Southern 
army that he should have kept to himself. At that time Miss 
Wright had no thought whatever of giving away the informa- 
tion she thus received. Not long after, however, she happened 
to make the remark in the presence of some Northern officers 
that if Grant knew all she knew he would not stay inactive 
where he was much longer. They pricked up their ears at 
this, and a few days after a colored man came to the door of 
the Wright home and, telling Miss Wright he had a message 
from General Sheridan, insisted on having a private inter- 
view. The parlor was not secluded enough to suit him, neither 
was the dining-room. There were too many doors. He in- 
sisted on seeing her in an adjoining closet. Naturally Miss 
Wright was frightened by such actions on the part of a col- 
ored man, and declared she had no communication with Gen- 
eral Sheridan. But he insisted on leaving the message and 
told her he would call at a certain time for her reply. 

This letter of Sheridan’s Mrs. Bonsal now has framed and 
takes pleasure in showing it to visitors. It is written on tissue 
paper, and was wrapped in tinfoil and the negro carried it 
in his mouth. He had instructions to swallow it if in danger 
of discovery, so as not to endanger Miss Wright’s life. He 
passed through the inspection of many Confederates with- 
out detection. A copy of this letter is in the newspapers. Miss 
Wright took her mother into her confidence and the advice 
she received was, ““Thee would better tell what thee knows, 
Rebecca,” for the good old Quaker mother now believed that 


332 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


_ the information had providentially come to her daughter. The 
father had been captured and was then lying in Libby Prison, 
and the mother and daughter felt that they ought to help in 
any way they could to bring the bitter war to a close. So the 
reply was waiting for the messenger at the appointed hour. 
This letter was destroyed later during the great Chicago fire 
and there is no copy of it. Mrs. Bonsal recollects saying in 
it that she would take pleasure in furnishing any information 
she could gather and that the messenger might call again. 
This was on Friday. The battle was fought on Monday, so 
he never came again. It was by means of the information 
given in this letter that Sheridan won his great victory. He 
made acknowledgment of this in the letter, a copy of which 
you will find in the papers she sends you, which he wrote in 
New Orleans in 1867, accompanying the watch and chain he 
sent her as a memento of the battle of September 19, 1864. 
The watch is a Swiss watch, with case covered with designs 
of tiny fleur de lis of black enamel. With the watch is a 
beautiful double linked chain of very unusual pattern, and a 
brooch which is composed of a horseshoe, a gauntlet, and a 
stirrup. From the stirrup hangs the chain, and also a short 
chain which holds the charms, which consist of a key, a seal 
with monogram, and a perfect cavalry sabre about two and 
one-half inches long. The scabbard is set with emeralds, 
pearls and rubies. The brooch and saber were made to order 
for this gift. 

Living as she did in the midst of a people who did not think 
as she did, and in a family divided against itself, she had to 
keep this gift a secret. But one day a sister, whose sympathies 
were on the other side, because she had a sweetheart in the © 
Southern army, found the watch, and then the secret came 
out. The indignation of the people knew no bounds. The 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 333 


children spat upon her, and the women drew aside their skirts 
as she passed along the streets. She lost her position as prin- 
cipal of the girls’ school and was compelled to go elsewhere 
to live. She went to Philadelphia, and while there she applied 
to the Treasurer of the United States for a position. She 
used General Sheridan’s letter to help her in this, and on it 
is an indorsement by General Grant. This letter is framed 
between two pieces of glass, for the sheet is covered upon both 
sides with the writing. 

She obtained a position paying $75 per month, and only 
had a small promotion about three years ago. Many others 
who ran less risk of life in serving their country in its time 
of great need have used influence to get larger salaries and 
pensions as a reward for their loyalty, but Mrs. Bonsal has 
always been modest about pushing herself forward, and is 
still plodding on in monotonous departmental work at a salary 
too small for much but the bare necessities in expensive Wash- 
ington. 

During the reconstruction days the family of Miss Wright 
scattered, Miss Wright going to Washington, where she was 
given a life position in the money-counting division of the 
Treasury Department as a further reward for the services she 
had performed for Gen. Sheridan. 

She had not been there long when she met William C. 
Bonsal, of Hartford County, Maryland, who was also a de- 
vout Friend. In 1874 he came to “Pleasant Level,” the home 
of Joseph H. Jackson, near Winchester, where Miss Wright 
was a guest. There they were married, returning to Wash- 
ington, and building themselves a home at Mount Pleasant, 
where they now live. 

Mrs. Bonsal usually spends a few weeks each summer at 


334 GENERAL PuHit H. SHERIDAN 


her old home in Winchester, recalling the exciting and event- 
ful days of the war. 
. FANNIE HOLMES. 


The day after the battle of Cedar Creek several thousand 
prisoners were encamped within our lines, surrounded by a 
cordon of cavalry. A drummer boy belonging to an Ohio regi- 
ment was curious to see them. He noticed a boy among the 
sad men in gray and his sympathies went out to the little fel- 
low. He asked permission of the nearest guard to cross the 
line to see that boy. The cavalryman consented. Coming up 
within speaking distance, he called out: 

“Hello, Johnny; what you doin’ here?” 

“Not much,” was the cool, defiant answer. 

The Ohio boy then extended his hand, which was taken by 
the small prisoner without cordiality. 

“Have they fed you good since you’ve been here?” 

“IT haven’t had hardly anything since yesterday morning, 
when we drove you fellers out an’ got yer grub.” : 

“T’ve got some crackers in my haversack. Do you want 
some?” 

“T should think so. DP’m awful hnugry.” 

The contents of the haversack were transferred from the 
blue to the gray. : 

“If you'll stay here till I can run over to our tent I'll 
bring you some soffee and fat meat. It ain’t far.” 

The proposition suited the Confederate boy so well that 
he could make no objections, only saying, 

“Bully! That’s good in you. I'll stay right here and 
wait.” 

Soon our drummer boy came back with two slices of raw 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 335 


fat pork and some coffee, which soon disappeared underneath 
the hungry boy’s ragged jacket. 

“Did you see much of the fighting yesterday ?” 

“Ves, saw lots of it. I was under Gordon. We licked 
you fellers easy in the morning, but in the afternoon, after you 
got your reinforcements, you licked us easy. Say, Yank, 
what’s yer name?” 

“Tom Reynolds. I belong to the 
your name?” 

“Joe Osborne. I belong to the Virginia. Say, 
Tom; how many reinforcements did you get after we licked 
you?” 

“We only got one man.” 

“Now, Tom; don’t fool with me, for I feel awful bad, 
not only because we got licked, but my cousin was killed, and 
he was always so good to me. There was about six others in 
our company killed, too, and the second sergeant slapped my 
jaws ’cause I lost my drum. I throwed it away ’cause it was 
shot through an’ was no good, but he wouldn’t believe me, an’ 
slapped me. Now, tell me true, how many did you get?” 

“One man, and he was a little one.” 

“Who was that man?” 

“General Sheridan. He came riding up just after we was 
licked and running, and he turned us back, re-formed us, and 
the fight commenced again.” 

“Well, Tom; I’d like to see that man. He must be a 
dandy. I’ve heard of him. If he comes around here, show 
him to me.” 

Here is an echo, clear and distinct, of Cedar Creek, as 
the news reached Somerset, Ohio, several hundred miles dis- 
tant. 

The daily mail that dashed up the main street of that vil- 


Ohio. What’s 


330 GENERAL PuHit H. SHERIDAN 


lage during the war from the nearest railroad station nine 

miles distant usually arrived about four o’clock. A group 

invariably awaited it, anxious fathers, mothers, brothers and 

sisters, who filled the small postoffice room and packed the 

sidewalk in front. It was not only the nervous anxiety of 

friends to hear of John, Sam, or William, but, the year I refer 

to, there were one or more battles every day, which caused the 

city newspapers, a bundle of which the driver of the hack 

would bring for sale, to be in great demand. Among the 

number who could always be seen in front of that village post- 

office was old John Sheridan. All his boys were out, and it} 
was natural the father should feel an intense interest; possibly 

that feeling was intensified that year, for his oldest son was. 
now in command of the middle military department, head- 

quarters in the Shenandoah Valley, a valley of disasters to us 

hitherto. 

One day in October, 1864, a neighbor who was not dis- 

tinguished for loyalty, passed the Sheridan home on his. re- 

turn from the nearest railroad station; Mrs. Sheridan was 

near the gate as he passed. He halted and told her where he 

had been and what he had heard of the defeat of Phil’s army 

the previous day. At last accounts, he said, they had been still 

running from the enemy down the valley. The old lady, con- 

sidering the source of the information, regarded the story as 

impossible, and as an imputation on Phil and his brave boys. © 
She plainly told him she did not believe it, but he assured 

her that it was true beyond doubt; that when the mail arrived 

his story would be verified. 

Of course it was with unusual dread that the old man wait- 
ed on the pavement at the postoffice for the city paper that 
evening. ‘A bystander, who had also heard the report, asked 
Mr. Sheridan if he believed it. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 337 


“No, I do not. JI do not think they could whip Phil in 
that way unless they surprised him, and I know him well 
enough to know that they could not surprise him. He is too 
cautious.” , 

“But the report says he was not there!” 

“Yes, so I heard. But I know he would not leave his men 
if there was the least: prospect of a battle. No, Phil wouldn’t 
do that. If he would not share all the dangers, fortunes and 
misfortunes of his men I would disown him unless he had been 
too sick to mount his horse. No, I am sure there is nothing 
in this report. But here comes the hack, and we will soon 
know.” 

The mailsack was thrown out; the driver quickly opened 
his pack of papers. Old John eagerly purchased one and hur- 
ried over the way to have it read by a friend, for his palsied 
arm, the result of a kick from a horse, prevented him from 
holding the paper; a number followed him, as there were not 
enough papers for all. 

There was a deathlike silence in that room when the reader 
commenced with these headlines: 

“Defeat and ruin. General Sheridan’s army surprised and 
driven from Cedar Creek down the Shenandoah Valley, panic- 
stricken and helpless. Five thousand killed and wounded. 
General Sheridan not there.” 

When the last sentence was read old John stopped the 
reader and said: 

“Please read those last words again. Did you read Phil 
was not there?” 

The reader repeated, “General Sheridan not there.” 

Then followed the details of the surprise and panic. After 
the full account had been read, the group naturally turned to 
the old man, who stood there mute and motionless, with a 


338 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


dazed, bewildered expression on his face. Recovering him- 
self, he repeated a portion of the headlines: 

“Five thousand of Phil’s boys killed and wounded; his 
colors gone, his cannon and camp taken—and he not there! 
My God! Where could he have been? Phil not there! Not 
there!’ 

This last sentence was reepated with inexpressible sadness. 
The reader handed back the paper, the sorrowful group dis- 
persed, everyone sympathizing with the old man, for he looked 
heart-broken. Slowly he turned from the door to go over 
the hill to his home, where would come one of the saddest 
duties he ever discharged. It was to hand the paper, which 
he thought disgraced them all, to the anxious mother. He 
knew she would be waiting at the gate, where she would read 
the crushing story of the disaster, and that cruel sentence: 
“General Sheridan not there.” 

Had his name appeared among those of the dead or dying, 
those old people could have borne it with Christian resigna- 
tion and fortitude, but to learn that he “was not there,” where 
he should have been, this they could not bear. They would 
rather face death than dishonor or the possibility that he was 
not sharing the dangers and hardships of his army. There 
were shame, sadness and tears in the Sheridan cottage that 
night. 

But the next day, as usual, the father was standing with 
the crowd at the village postoffice again. Terrible as had 
been the blow the day before, he was too much of a Spartan — 
to remain at home in dread seclusion; besides, he had a strong 
presentiment that the news would be better that day, and he 
told Mrs. Sheridan so. 

When the hack arrived and he had secured his paper he 
hurried across the street again to his friend to have the dis- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 339 


patches read. The same crowd followed, for, as usual, all 
could not secure papers. Then there ensued another death- 
like silence as the reader read these headlines: 

“Hurrah! Hurrah! From panic and defeat, Sheridan 
on his black horse brought victory, turning a defeated mob 
into a victorious army, retaking his camp, cannon and colors. 
The enemy running up the valley in dismay.” 

Those who heard the reader thrilled with joy and excite- 
ment and gave a heart-felt cheer, then turned to look at the 
old man again as they had the day before. His first words 
were: 

“Phil was there! Phil was there! And I thank God he 
was!” 

They could have borne the news of his death, but not of 
his loss of honor. 

On reading the details, it was found that Sheridan had 
been ordered to Washington by General Grant, and that that 
was the cause of his absence. When this was read the father 
said : 

“T thought he must either be dead or ordered away, but 
it’s all right. Phil was there.” 

Securing his paper, he hurried over the hill with a quick 
step, light heart and bright face, to tell the mother that there 
was a great victory and that “Phil was there.” The above 
incident was related to me after my return home. 


CHAPTER XIX, 


RETURN HOME—MEETING WITH PHIL’S FATHER—“A JOY 
SHARED IS A JOY DOUBLED’—A LITTLE LASS PRESENTS 
THE BUCKEYE TO THE HERO. 


Shenandoah Valley to return home. Like all other 
regiments that traveled by rail, we were packed in 
box or freight cars, and made about the same rate of speed 
that freight trains usually make. 
We reached our destination the third night, by way of 
the Pennsylvania Railroad, as the Baltimore and Ohio Road 
was, from the effects of war, not in proper condition for travel 
at that time, though it would have been the most direct route 
to our home. The Pennsylvania took us through Baltimore, 
Harrisburg and Pittsburg. At the latter place we were so 
kindly treated that it is a pleasure to recall it. The patriotic 
citizens had a systematic arrangement to feed all hungry sol- 
diers who could stop long enough to be fed and sheltered, be 
it either by day or by night. Nearly all of us being destitute 
of money, these conditions suited us so well that no voice 
dissented when we were enabled to avail ourselves of their 
hospitality. 

On leaving the train, a few minutes after our arrival, we 
were marched, following a guide, to a hall, the march occu- 
pying ten or fifteen minutes. At this hall we spent nearly an 
hour of solid enjoyment. What rations we had started with 
in haversacks had been eaten the first day out. This was all 

340 


[ ) ster the beautiful month of October we left the 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 341 


we had except what we could pick up on the way. When the 
train stopped for water or change of crews, boys and girls, 
and often adults, would run out from their homes and dis- 
tribute bread, pies and fruit among us, but only a few could 
be provided for in this way. But at Pittsburg we had a 
bountiful feast. It is one of the most pleasant recollections 
of the war, the thought of that good, substantial supper. It 
was near midnight when we commenced eating. I do not 
know into what part of the city we marched, but distinctly 
remember that we climbed to the third or fourth floor. Here 
long tables stood, loaded with good bread and cheese, cold 
meat and hot coffee. We stacked arms and many of the 
boys, seeing the well-filled tables, took the precaution to un- 
buckle their belts in anticipation of the abundance before 
them; it was well they did, for after supper they were bulged 
out. Those who served us were very kind and attentive, en- 
joying the task of ministering to our keen appetites, for they 
smiled as we passed our tin cups a third or fourth time for 
“more of that good coffee.” It had milk in it. Apart from 
the intoxication of a good meal, there is pleasure in watching 
those whom we care for, enjoying the same satisfaction. “A 
joy shared is a joy doubled.” As I looked up and down the 
line of my company, though all had soiled faces and hands 
and tattered clothing, they appeared so happy that the picture 
was more pleasing to me than the efforts of a Reubens or a 
Michael Angelo. 

Although all this occurred so long ago, I still cherish the 
memory of Pittsburg’s kind treatment as vividly as though 
it had been but yesterday, and I can still taste that good 
supper. 

The next day we again met good-hearted friends at the 
town of Salem, Ohio, in Columbiana County, near the birth- 


342 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


place of President McKinley. We were detained at this place 
for several hours; something was wrong with the engine. 

It was Sunday, a beautiful day. As soon as it became 
known that a regiment of hungry soldiers was at the station, 
we were overwhelmed with substantial kindnesses, without 
leaving the station. Many of the boys, however, went up into 
the town and fared sumptuously at the homes of citizens. 
When my boys spoke of this town in after years, and could 
' not remember its name, they would call it “that Yankee town,” 
for that part of the state was largely settled by New Eng- 
landers. 

About twelve o’clock that night we reached Columbus. 
In stepping from the car to the platform, still half asleep, I 
stumbled over something covered with a blanket. It felt to 
me like a person. On examination I found it to be one of 
our regiment who had died in the hospital car that night. 
Poor little Anderson! So near home and yet so far away! 

We went into camp in a clover field adjoining the peniten- 
tiary. The following day a train took us to Zanesville, where 
we had been mustered in, now to be paid and mustered out. 
Here we were in good, comfortable quarters in the fair 
grounds. When it was ascertained that the mustering officer 
and paymaster would not be with us for several days, I ap- 
plied for a leave of absence for twenty-four hours to make a 
flying visit to my home, eighteen miles distant. Of course 
I wanted to see the little girl that had been born not many 
weeks after our start for Virginia, and very much desired to 
see her pretty mother; neither had been in very good health 
at last accounts. | 

A drive of three or four hours brought us to the foot of 
the hill that made the approach to the village, where I met 
a farmer on his way home. He was the father of one of my 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 343 


company boys. I had to stop and tell him how his Tom was, 
and all the others he knew. He said it was known in the vil- 
lage that we had arrived in Zanesville. As we were talking, 
two boys came down the hill; when they recognized me, one 
called out: 

“Hello, Cap., when’s the others coming?” 

“About day after tomorrow.” 

With this news they quickly turned back to the village to 
spread the tidings that part of Company G was at the bottom 
of the hill (another was with me) and the balance would 
come home in two days. They were excited and greatly im- 
pressed with the importance of being the first to spread the 
news. The village boy is the scout of that kind of commu- 
nity; he sets afloat nearly all the gossip and is authority on 
all sensational or startling occurrences; he is to a little town 
what the cavalry is to an army—the eye and ear. Ina very 
short time these advance couriers had spread the news of our 
coming from one end of the town to the other. 

The livery stable, where we proposed to leave our team, 
was in the rear of the old courthouse—the center of the place. 
Here we were met by a number of friends of the company, 
some of whom took the horses to the stable so as to permit 
us to alight and answer questions. We were soon surrounded 
by men, women and children, and a hundred questions were 
being fired at us. | 

“How did you leave my Sam?” a mother hurriedly asked. 

“When will Charlie come home?’ asked another. 

“Was George well enough to come with you?’ 

A little girl pressed her way to the front and asked, “Will 
our Bill come tomorrow ?” 

I was suddenly plucked by the coat, and when I looked 
to find the source of the jerk, saw a five-year-old who wanted 


344 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


to know about their Jim. “Mother sent me; she’s too sick to 
come herself.”’ 

“Tell her Jim will come in two days. He’s fat and well.” 
And he started off running to give his mother the glad tid- 
ings that Jim would soon arrive “fat and well.” 

For some time the crowd steadily pressed us with ques- 
tions, but I remained until all were answered, anxious as I 
was to get home. I had finally reached the outside of the 
now diminishing crowd when I felt a gentle touch at my 
elbow; it was so gentle that I thought it must come from some 
little girl who had not yet heard tidings of father or brother. 
Upon turning, I found it to be old John Sheridan who, be- 
cause of the denseness of the crowd and his short stature, I 
had not seen. He had modestly taken a back stand, as he 
expressed it, “to let the women and children have a better 
chance.” After the usual salutation and welcome the old 
man, in a rather confidential tone, asked: “How did John 
stand it, and what kind of a soldier did he make?” 

“Very good, Mr. Sheridan, after the fat was marched off 
him. Then he stood it very well until he got that spell of 
fever; but the first month he was badly galled from marching. 
He was so fat, you know. He is in good health and will be 
home in a few days, after we are paid.” 

“Was he a good soldier?” 

“Yes; what makes you ask that?” 

Then, with some deliberation, he replied; ‘Well, you 
know John always did love to take things easy in this world; 
he never distinguished himself for hard work. I was fearful 
that he might shirk hardships. I am very glad he did his 
‘duty. I will not detain you longer; I know you are anxious 
to see your wife, baby and parents.” 

After the old man had heard my report of his son his 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 345 


countenance brightened and he afterward told me he was 
more pleased to hear that John had done his duty as a private 
than to hear of all the promotions and praise that Phil had 
received. The prominence that General Sheridan achieved 
made no impression on the family. The only pride old John 
took was in the fact that his boys did their duty, and the 
mother was happier in the knowledge that Phil was a good 
son than that he made his famous ride and won such great 
battles. 

A few months after the war we heard that General Sheri- 
dan was coming home. 

The reader will remember that at the close of our war 
Sheridan was sent to the Rio Grande with three corps to 
watch the French, who were then occupying Mexico. The 
order, of course, came from General Grant, but Sheridan’s 
enemies said he went there to pick a fight with the French. 
Be that as it may, it was this movement that delayed his visit 
to his native village. 

Now the French had been driven out of Mexico and he 
was returning home. How much history he had made since 
going away! How much of life and death he had seen since 
his last farewell! I am sure he came back with tender emo- 
tions to the scene of his childhood and early manhood; with 
kind thoughts of his paternal home, his playmates and his 
neighbors. He rejoiced to once more walk the streets of the 
quaint old village, every nook and corner of which was fa- 
miliar to him, and fond associations returned at sight of 
nearly every building. 

Five or six of us happened to be standing at the corner 
drug store a few ho-1rs after word came that the General was 
coming that day. Someone proposed that when.he came we 
should welcome him in some informal manner; we would 


346 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


have no time for anything elaborate, as he was to leave the 
following day. Someone suggested that we go out about six 
o’clock with music and flags; our stay would be brief, as he 
naturally desired as much time with his father and mother 
as his short visit would allow. 

The details were agreed upon. We would meet at the 
ringing of the bell at six o’clock, and march out. But the 
musicians must be notified. Some boys were standing by. 
“Sam, run down to Billy Jackson’s and tell him to bring his 
drum up at the ringing of the bell at six o’clock, and tell him 
why; and as you pass Bill Page’s tell him the same and state 
the object of the meeting.” 

“George, take my mare and ride out to Tommy Dean. 
Tell him to be here at six o’clock and bring his fife; we are 
going out to see General Sheridan.” 

“Here is money to buy some powder to fire the cannon 


$3 


and 

The boys required no “tip” for their services, for they 
would enjoy the event as much as any of us, so they started 
off with alacrity. The news was soon spread abroad by the 
boys. The boy detailed to ring the bell discharged his duty 
promptly, and the drum corps, with all the ex-soldiers of the 
village and many citizens, had assembled. Over all the stars 
and stripes fluttered inspiringly. 

According to the program, it was now time to start. I 
happened to be the only ex-commissioned officer present, so 
Sergeant William Russell, of my old company, came to me 
and said: 

“Cap., the boys want you to take command, get us into 
line and throw us into fours, so that we can march out in 
some kind of order. Phil won’t like to see us coming out 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 347 


like a mob. Most of us that are here have been soldiers; let 
us go out as soldiers.” 

Soon we were in column of fours, the music in front and, 
as usual, all the boys in town crowding us closely. This was 
observed by an ex-soldier, who suggested that the ‘“‘kids’’ be 
driven back by the town marshal and made to keep their place 
on the left of the column, otherwise they would crowd the 
music. The marshal carried this suggestion out, much to the 
disgust and indignation of the “kids.” 

All was now ready, and we started. On our way out, 
between tunes, I asked Dr. Kagey, a fluent speaker, to pre- 
pare himself with a three-minute speech of welcome. A ten- 
minute-walk brought us to the pretty cottage which stood 
back from the road thirty or forty steps. By the time we 
had halted and faced the house the family came out to dis- 
cover the meaning of the music. When the boys recognized 
Phil they cheered—the regular cheer of the Northern army 
when going into battle. I then took the citizen who had been 
invited to make the speech of welcome, to the house, when, 
after some handshaking and a few brief remarks, the General, 
with his father and mother, told us to bring the visitors in, 
which we declined, on the ground that we were there to make 
a very brief stay, our object being to give Phil, as this was 
his first visit home, an informal welcome. 

“Go out with us on the road and shake hands with the 
boys.” | 

He smiled, saying, “I will be glad to see them,” and we 
started. 

When we reached the gate, at the command of an ex- 
sergeant who was assisting, all gave a true military salute. 
Dr. Kagey then made a neat little speech lasting a few min- 
utes. When he had concluded, the General told us with some 


348 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


embarrassment and hesitation that this unexpected but never- 
theless welcome visit touched him deeply, as it came from his 
personal friends, neighbors and former playmates. 

He referred to those who were not present to welcome 
him; letters from home had told him they had fallen on 
Southern fields. When he spoke of them I could detect emo- 
tion in his voice, for, among many others, Tom Talbot, the 
son of the man who had given him his first employment, had 
been killed while carrying the colors of the 31st Ohio. 

He concluded by thanking us for the regard we mani- 
fested toward him, as it was especially appreciated coming 
from those “who knew him best.” 

While we were in this informal manner offering our rustic 
tribute to the modest hero of a hundred battles, a trifling epi- 
sode occurred of which I was reminded a few months ago 
when looking over my old scrapbook. The lines were written 
by Noah Perry. 

In the midst of the handshaking with the citizens after the 
ranks had been opened and Phil had gone through the lines 
of ex-soldiers, a little girl, one of a group that had followed 
us out, elbowed her way to where I stood, and touched my 
hand. When she had attracted my attention she timidly 
asked if I thought General Sheridan would accept of “these 
two buckeyes” she was holding. 

“Oh, certainly; he will be pleased to have them,’ I said 
to the embarrassed little miss. 

I interrupted the handshaking by saying, “General, here 
is a little girl who desires to present you with these two 
buckeyes.” 

He turned quickly, taking the Ohio emblems, thanked her 
very warmly and asked her name. “I will keep them to re- 
member you,” he said. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 349 


A happier and more self-satisfied girl was never seen as, 
with blushes, she pressed her way back again; and as she did 
so I caught a look from her bright eyes that plainly thanked 
me for affording her so much pleasure. She paid no atten- 
tion, further than to cast a look of contempt on a rude boy 
she was passing, who said, ‘This is no place for girls.” 

The next day I met the little girl I was the means of mak- 
ing happy the day before. She stopped a moment to say, 
“Captain, did you notice how General Sheridan smiled to me 
and did not notice those other larger and prettier girls that 
were there?” 


BY THE WAY. 


Oh! did you hear those bells ring out, 
The bells ring out, the people shout, 
And did you hear that cheer on cheer 
That over all the bells rang clear? 


And did you see the waving flags, 

The fluttering flags, the tattered flags, 

Red, white and blue, shot through and through, 
Baptized with battle’s deadly dew? 


And did you hear the drum’s gay beat, 
The drum’s gay beat, the bugles sweet, 
The cymbal’s clash, the cannon’s crash, 
That rent the sky with sound and flash? 


And did you see me waiting there, 
Just waiting there and watching there, 
One little lass, amid the mass, 

That pressed to see the hero pass? 


My face, uplifted, red and white, 
Turned red and white with sheer delight, 
To meet the eyes, the smiling eyes, 
Outflashing in their swift surprise? 


350 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Oh, did you see how swift it came, 
How swift it came, like sudden flame, 
That smile to me, to only me, 

The little lass who blushed to see? 


And at the windows all along, 
Oh, all along, a lovely throng, 
Of faces fair, beyond compare, 
Beamed out upon him standing there. 


Each face was like a radiant gem, 

A sparkling gem, and yet for them 

No swift smile came, like sudden flame, 
No arrowy glance took certain aim. 


He turned away from all their grace, 
From all that grace of perfect face; 
He turned to me, to only me, 

The little lass who blushed to see. 


The day following our celebration General Sheridan 
called at my rooms. He spoke of the boys who had gone 
from the village to the war. : 

“Was Jimmie Gibbons with you, and what became of 
him ?” 

“Yes, Jimmie was in the first company. No one knows 
what became of him after his discharge, which was in Ken- 
tucky, the first year of the war. He was at times somewhat 
demented, which was the cause of his discharge. We were 
told that. he never came back home.” | 

“Poor Jim! I am not surprised his mind failed; it was 
doubtless the result of the cruel beatings he had received 
from his step-father; they lived near us, you remember. I 
often saw him beat Jim over the head when he was a little 
fellow. and we thought then the boy was getting silly from 
the effects of it. Mother, a number of times, thought of hav- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 351 


ing the father arrested for cruelty, but to spare Mrs. Gibbons’ 
feelings she never did.” 

He also inquired for Tom Talbot, who was killed in front 
of Atlanta. 

It was in 1881, I think, on one of his annual visits, Gen- 
eral Sheridan came to my office. After talking of all the old 
residents and the boys and girls he had known in the fifties, 
he said: “Who shall I get to attend to the Pigeon Roost 
Farm?” 

This farm was twelve miles south of our village. 

“You want someone as agent?” 

“Yes.” 

After thinking a minute, I said: “Get Martin Scott. 
You know the business will be honestly and carefully attended 
tol f Scott is not careful and honest, no one on earth is.” 

Then Phil laughed. I wondered what I had said to amuse 
him, and asked: 

“What is so funny in what I have said?” 

“T will tell you. Martin Scott was out to see me last 
night and I asked him the same question as I did you—who 
should I get to take charge of the farm? He studied a few 
moments and then replied, “Get Captain Greiner,’ I was just 
laughing at the coincidence—he recommending you and you 
him. Do you belong to the same mutual admiration society ?” 

“Yes; it’s reciprocal with other benefits.” 

He then insisted I should see to the farm. 

“What is there to do in taking care of it?” 

“Not much. Collect the rent, see there is no timber cut 
except what is needed for fuel and fencing, go down once or 
twice a year as you like and see how it is getting along.” 

Generally speaking, the tenants in that part of the county 


ao 


B52 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


were poor. The soil was not fertile, being almost worn out, 
and rocky. 

I was always averse to collecting debts, therefore a very 
poor collector. 

I said, “General, you have always been very friendly to 
me and I should be glad for that reason, if for no other, to 
serve you in any way; but I hope you will excuse me now, as 
I know nothing of crops and land and would probably make 
some mistake. Besides, I am a poor collector.” 

I remember that I then attempted to interject some Shake- 
speare by saying, “When the poor cry or complain, I pity.” 
A collector should be made of sterner stuff. 

Then Phil said: ‘When the poor cry I want you to pity. 
I will think more of you if you do, but I cannot excuse you. 
Try it for a year, then if it is not pleasant you can resign. 
All you need to do is to take the rent, deduct your pay for 
services and time, then send the remainder to me.” 

I agreed to try it one year. 

“Now, I want another favor. I am to meet some parties 
there who desire to buy the farm; if I sell, that will relieve 
you. They will be there tomorrow. I would like to have 
you go down with me. I will engage a carriage now to start 
at seven in the morning. If you can go, stop for me as you 
pass our house.” 

I told him I could go. The carriage called for me, driven 
by Jim Bradshaw, a livery driver and ex-soldier of my first 
company. We found the General waiting; he was “always 
on time,” as General Grant once said of him. For an hour 
he did not talk much, nor did I disturb him with many ques- 
tions, though there were many I desired to ask. From the 
beginning I noticed that he was looking at the hills and val- 
leys, fields and forests that he had known so well as a boy. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 353 


As we passed a farmhouse he would say, “Who lives there 
now?” Occasionally he asked, ‘Where are the Crossnans, 
the Yosts, the Dolans?” etc. 

Soon we would come to a country with which he was 
not so familiar and in which he did not have the same inter- 
est; I knew that would be the opportune time to ask my ques- 
tions. We were to be almost alone the entire day, and it was 
a lovely day; a shower the day before having laid the dust, a 
pleasanter time for the trip could not have been selected. Na- 
ture that morning had put on her most captivating dress; the 
trees were in full foliage and the flowers in perfect bloom; 
the birds in the groves were giving their freshest and sweetest 
music, while a gentle breeze seemed to stir the trees—a silent 
welcome to the soldier who had been absent so long. 

“What is so rare as a day in June!” 

We were on the summit of the Redmond hill when he 
said to the driver, “Stop a moment.” He stood up in the 
carriage and looked over the rolling landscape; from that 
point a view could be had for many miles. 

“Those hills look so beautiful, and higher than they did 
when I was a boy. When I see them now, or look over the 
splendid prairies of the West, and think of the glorious insti- 
tutions of this country, I more than ever think it is a county 
worth fighting for.” 

After leaving Redmond hill we came to a country not so 
familiar to him. We passed a little white schoolhouse. He 
was a believer in the common school system. Pointing to 
it, he said: 

“That is what made us superior to the South; the little 
white schoolhouse of the North gave us a great advantage. 
Education is invincible.” 


354 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


Now he was ready for conversation, and it continued 
almost uninterruptedly all day. ; 

This ride occurred in the June following the inauguration 
of President Garfield, in the midst of the bitter, rancorous 
contentions between the Republican factions that a few days 
later furnished a Guiteau and a split in the party in New York 
that in time brought disaster to Blaine. The combination 
against Garfield, headed by that great power, Senator Conklin, 
and his able ally, Vice-President Arthur, and backed by the 
Republican machinery of New York, threatened to overwhelm 
the President and disrupt the party. It looked to everyone 
as if the voice of the conciliatory Garfield had lost its power 
and that even with the assistance of the able and adroit Blaine 
he would be overthrown by the magnetic, dictatorial Conklin. 
This condition was then convulsing the whole country. 

Grant, with a majority of the prominent military officers 
who took an interest in politics, sympathized with Conklin. 
Knowing the warm friendship that existed between Conklin 
and Sheridan, and the intimacy between Grant and Sheridan, 
also the close friendship between Grant and Conklin, I natu- 
rally supposed that Sheridan had heard the most from the 
Conklin side and would sympathize with him and his chief, 
Grant. At that time Garfield was getting the worst of the 
fight; he was, metaphorically, the “under dog.” I was soon 
pleasantly surprised to find that Sheridan’s feelings were for 
President Garfield, and he expressed himself in the strongest 
words of pity and regret that in addition to the usual turmoil, 
embarrassment and clamor of thousands of office hunters who 
were thundering at his door, this bitter fight should also as- 
sail him. 

I personally knew Garfield. I said, “General, I am 
pleased to hear you sympathize with Garfield.” 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 355 


He concluded this part of our conversation by saying that 
if an opportunity presented itself he would tender the Presi- 
dent his sympathies. It did not occur to me to ask if he 
would permit me to communicate that fact to the President. 

A week after, while the war, lead by haughty, imperious 
Conklin, was still being waged, and to all appearances Gar- 
field was getting the worst of it, I could not resist the tempta- 
tion of writing to him the substance of my talk with Sher- 
idan. I stifled my conscience for this breach of confidence 
in revealing a private conversation, with the thought that the 
President would be gratified to know of that much additional 
sympathy, at least. So I briefly wrote the substance of our 
talk, emphasizing the fact that Sheridan was with him. Of 
course I expected no reply, as none was required, but by re- 
turn mail I received an answer dictated by the President, 
thanking me for my interest and the information my letter 
had contained.. I was just reading this communication when 
a friend said to me: “A telegram has just been received that 
the President has been assassinated.” 

When I had time to think of my letter, written three days 
before, my conscientious scruples were relieved for having 
violated a confidence. I am sure that the knowledge of hav- 
ing gallant Phil Sheridan with him in that terrible political 
conflict was an encouragement to him during the few remain- 
ing days that he lived. 

It was on this trip that I learned how General Sheridan 
came into possession of the farm we were going to see. 

“How did you come to buy this farm, not knowing at that 
time that there was any mineral on it?” 

“After the war I received a letter from mother telling me 
that Uncle John, from much sickness and death in the family, 
could, with all his frugality and toil, accomplish nothing 


356 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


toward paying off a long-standing mortgage, and that the 
claim was about to be foreclosed, which would take from him 
the home he had cleared with his own hands, and would 
probably leave him penniless; it was to be sold in a few weeks. 
Could I not help him in his distress? 

“In view of his age and the difficulty in working it, as he 
was badly crippled with rheumatism, I thought it best to let it 
go to sale, buy it in, and let him have it as a home free of 
rent as long as he lived. A year or two ago he died, after 
occupying it for seventeen years on those terms. It did not 
cost me over twenty dollars an acre, but since the railroad has 
been built so near, and coal and iron discovered on it, you 
know it has increased greatly in value, so that I can say I am 
well satisfied with my purchase, even though I did not buy 
it on speculation. I did it to please mother and Uncle John. 
One never loses anything in the end by doing what is right.” 

I thought it my best opportunity to speak to him of the 
war saddle his brother John and his father had given me. 
My object was that, if he so desired, it should remain in the 
family as a relic; I would readily return it. JI supposed he 
knew nothing of its being in my possession. He did not even 
remember the saddle until I mentioned that it had come with 
the black mare and chestnut horse—an English dragoon saddle 
taken by his command at the battle of Missionary Ridge. 
After I gave him this description he remembered it. 

“T am glad you have it. I never rode it often—-just 
enough to try it, for it was of such peculiar make. Yes, it 
was taken at Missionary Ridge with the grey pacer. Are 
you fond of relics?” 

I told him I was rather fond of them. 

“Then I will send you some when I return to Chicago. 
If you do not hear from me in a few days you may know that 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND | 357 


_ I have forgotten my promise; then write, and remind me 
of it.” 

In a few days after his departure I received three historic 
relics. 

“Tn all your battles, which do you think was the hardest 
and bloodiest?” I asked. 

He spoke of several, but my impression is that he said 
Murfreesboro was the most trying and severe to his com- 
mand. 

“T lost all my generals there. I was with the cavalry 
most of the time in the East, yet the sabre fighting, according 
to the numbers engaged, was the bloodiest in Tennessee, 
although Custer and Merritt did good sabre fighting in the 
valley. It was with Minty’s command that I saw the best 
sabre fighting.” 

Then we turned to the Indian question and the death of 
General Custer, that occurred about that time. 

“Poor Custer, he was the embodiment of gallantry. If 
there was any poetry or romance in war he could develop it. 
But I was always fearful that he would catch it if allowed a 
separate command. Yes, I told him he would get it some 
time, and I told others so. It was not much of a surprise to 
me when I heard of the disaster, but it was a great blow, as 
he served me so gallantly in the Shenandoah Valley. He 
always needed someone to restrain him; he was too impet- 
uous, without deliberation; he thought himself invincible and 
having a charmed life. When I think of the many brave fel- 
lows who went down with him that day, it is sickening.” 

“Was that battle fought under Sitting Bull’s management 
or leadership?” I asked. 

“By no means. Sitting Bull is no fighter; besides, he is 
a coward; he never led in a battle. It was Rain-in-the-Face, 


358 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


Crazy Horse, Lame Deer, and Gall that led the fighting there. 
Sitting Bull was in his tepee during most of the fight, ready 
to run at any moment. He is an over-rated, scheming fraud 
—only a mean medicine man.” 

“T am surprised to hear you say that. I cannot account 
for the prominence he has attained with so little bravery and 
no ability. Why is he so distinguished ?” 

“The only way I can account for it is that he is the. cham- 
pion instigator of discord and the incorrigible hater of the 
whites; he is always evil-minded toward the whites; always 
concocting some deviltry against the government—a brutal, 
cowardly, cunning dog.” 

All this was news to me; but time and subsequent events 
proved that General Sheridan’s estimate was correct. 

Then we spoke of General Custer again. I asked him if 
it were true that General Custer rode up to him at Cedar 
Creek, when they were going at full speed, and kissed him. ~ 

“Yes, that is true. He kissed me and I did not like it. 
I did not want to be kissed then. We had no time to lose; 
it was a critical period of the battle. Every moment of time 
was precious. I did not know what his object was until he 
had thrown his arms about my neck and kissed me and was 
off again. I suppose he was so overjoyed by my return and 
the victory he thought we would gain that he could not re- 
strain himself. He was as boyish as he was brave, and I 
would not have cared, but that we both lost a little time— 
that was what I did not like.” 

Sheridan appreciated the enthusiasm that had filled the 
heart of his boyish general, but felt like reprimanding him 
for losing the time for its demonstration. 

I had only to ask questions during that ride. Sheridan 
did all the talking, and he was a very good talker when with 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 359 


but one or two companions, but disliked making speeches or 
having many listeners. 

The beautiful day had passed into night when we de- 
scended the May Hill, now in sight of the Sheridan home, 
the lights of which we could see. Our last talk was of his 
tour through Europe, and the Franco-Prussian war; of the 
courteous distinction shown him by old Emperor William, 
whose guest he was; of the kindness shown in giving him such 
an excellent opportunity of studying the details and battles of 
that great war, where he could, at close quarters, observe the 
operations of Von Moltke, the statesmanship of Bismarck, 
and compare the generalship of the military nobles who were 
leading the German forces. I had read that Victor Emanuel 
and other crowned heads had received him with notable con- 
sideration. I remarked that when I thought of those atten- 
tions from the crowned heads of Europe it seemed something 
like a fairy tale to realize that it was the same Somerset boy 
that Thorn and McNanley had thrashed. 

“You had a glorious time on that trip?” 

“Yes, I was very well treated by all those we have spoken 
of and many others I have not mentioned, but I would rather 
dine on a good piece of country cured ham in that cottage 
(pointing to his mother’s home) than feast with all the em- 
perors and kings of Europe.” 

“It is reported that you so enjoyed war that soon after the 
surrender of Appomattox you prevailed on. General Grant to 
give you three corps to take to Mexico and stir up a fight with 
the French. Is that true?” 

“Not a word of it true. The request came from Grant. 
He was in a hurry and would not let me remain with my com- 
mand long enough to participate in the review at Washington. 
Of course, I felt that I would like to ride with my ten thousand 


360. GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


cavalry down Pennsylvania avenue, for I would never see 
them again. They had served me so gallantly that I thought 
I would enjoy that one last ride, and I told Grant so, but he 
insisted that I should be off before the review could come. I 
must confess I was eager to assist the Mexicans in driving out 
the invaders. We both had a great dislike and contempt for 
Napoleon, with the fullest sympathy for our sister Republic, 
but I did not want to go so soon as Grant desired.” 

I can remember no incident that impressed me with the 
thought that he enjoyed war. But once I visited his quarters 
in the Shenandoah Valley; during the conversation concerning 
the expiration of our term of service he asked me if my boys 
desired to go home. I told him ‘Yes, and it increased as the 
time approached. They were counting the hours they had 
yet to remain. Then there was a long, loud laugh by Phil.” 

Royalty inspired no more consideration in the heart of 
Phil Sheridan than the presence of some good, patriotic 
American farmer. He inherited this democracy from his 
parents. Rank had no charms for him. When the breath 
of fame blew the records of his splendid achievements over 
the world and his parents heard them it only brought a smile 
of joy that he was doing his duty. 

It will be recalled that at the time of Grant’s inaugura- 
tion to the Presidency, Sheridan was just closing a successful 
. Indian campaign on the frontier. Here is an account of 
General Sheridan’s appointment as the Lieutenant-General by 
President Grant, this appointment being one of the very first 
made by the new President: 


General Grant had just been elected President of the 
United States. The commission of general held by Grant 
expired with his resignation thereof. Sherman had been 
named, as was Grant when made general, in the acts which 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 361 


authorized his appointment as lieutenant-general. Legislation 
was therefore not necessary. It had been obtained. Grant’s 
first act as President after taking the oath of office, reading 
his inaugural, and calling the Senate together in executive 
session, was to nominate William Tecumseh Sherman as Gen- 
eral, and Philip Henry Sheridan as Lieutenant-General in the 
Army of the United States. The nominations were immedi- 
ately confirmed. 

Sheridan, two thousand miles westward, was moving east 
with his wearied escort, consisting of a detachment of the 
Tenth Cavalry, accompanied by Colonels Lebo and Schuyler 
Crosby, Major J. W. Clous, and Colonel McGonigle. They 
were returning to Fort Hays. Between the middle of Feb- 
ruary and March 6th, a march of over three hundred miles 
had been made. Sheridan had left the camp of the captured 
Indians, on the head waters of the Wichita River, after a 
remarkable talk to such of their head men as were left, in 
which he had firmly, but without anger or the arrogance of 
power, told them what they could expect from the “Great 
Father.” His little command was but twenty miles from 
Fort Hays on the Smoky Hill (now known as Mt. Jesus, 
Clark County). The long shadows of the afternoon sun 
were descending as a military courier was seen fleetly 
riding towards the advancing command. The _ vedettes 
and their commander were proudly saluted, but the courier 
drew no rein. It was evident that whatever was the news, 
he was proud of being its carrier. But in his haste he rode 
by the general, and an orderly was sent to inform the rider 
that he was at the head of the little column. Turning his 
horse swiftly, the messenger drew a yellow envelope from his 
pocket, and rode up furiously, reining his horse almost back 
upon his haunches, and standing in his stirrups, as he touched 
his hat in a military salute, exclaimed while handing over the 
dispatch : 

“T have the honor of saluting the Lieutenant-General of 
the Army of the United States.” 

The bronzed, flushed face of the trooper was all aglow 
with pride and pleasure, as at once he became a rigid and 
martial statue “at attention.” 

The cry was heard, and even before the gallant little sol- 


362 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


dier to whom the dispatch was addressed could open it, the 
soldiers all, officers and men, shouted “To the Lieutenant- 
General!” ; 

General Sheridan’s face, says an eye-witness, was flushed 
with mingled sensations of pride and emotion. His hand 
trembled with feeling as he opened the packet. It was a tele- 
gram from General Sherman substantially in these words: 

“Grant has been inaugurated. He has just nominated me 
for General and you for Lieutenant-General.” 

“To the Lieutenant-General!’’ went up in shouts along the 
little column of officers and troopers which broke the solitudes 
of the Smoky Hill; “To the Lieutenant-General!” again and 
again in rounds of cheers. And then the bugle gave the 
order “‘trot,’ and shortly the little command was briskly gal- 
loping toward Fort Hays. The next day, March 7th, Gen- 
eral Sheridan, with two aides, left for Washington. They 
arrived in the middle of March. Sheridan was the recipient 
of the most marked social attention. After a short rest he 
was assigned to the Military Division of the Missouri, em- 
bracing all the territory north and south from the Gulf to the 
British line, and from the Missouri River west to the Rocky 
Mountains. His headquarters were fixed in Chicago. Four 
departments, each commanded by a well-known soldier, were 
included within this great division. 


The close observer of human nature who believes that 
“the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” would, in 
the case of Phil Sheridan, have been mistaken, for he was in- 
different to feasts, and banquets were distasteful to him. 

When we drove up to the gate we found his pretty wife 
waiting for us in the dark. We had overstaid our time sev- 
eral hours, and possibly she had been fearful lest some acci- 
dent had overtaken us while traveling over those steep hills 
with a spirited team. 

The following note from the General explains itself: 

“Chicago, Jan. 20th, 1882. 

“My Dear Greiner: I am just.in receipt of your letter 

of 19th. You can rent the farm to Sharkey for such rent as 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 363 


you may choose to fix for it per year. I wish you would have 
it understood that if Sharkey takes the place no timber is to 
be cut. 
“Any rent you may fix for it would be satisfactory to me. 
I leave for the East today and will be absent a couple of 
weeks. With sincere regards, yours truly, 
“P. H. SHERIDAN.” 


“Headquarters Army of the United States, 
WasHINGTON, D. C., April 27, 1888. 


“Captain H. C. Greiner, Somerset, Ohio. 

CAPTAIN: Gen. Sheridan is in receipt of your letters and 
enclosures regarding the settlement of rent, tax receipts, P. O. | 
order for $4.87, and statement. 

“The General has also received the deed of the Pigeon 
Roost property. In a former letter you asked the General 
whether you would send him the deed of the homestead, which 
is at Somerset. In reply he says, yes, he thinks it best to have 
the deeds all together. The General has received back the 
letter and statement lately sent you. In reference to these 
matters the General desires to thank you for your kindness 
and promptness and care now and heretofore. 

“Very respectfully, 
“DANIEL O. DRENNAN, Clerk.” 


“Headquarters Army of the United States, 
“May 28th, 1887. 


“My Dear GREINER: I received your draft $29.00, &c., 
in due time, but in the pressure of business here for the past 


364 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


two months overlooked answering your letter, for which I 
hope you will pardon me. Go ahead—use your own good 
judgment about a roof on the house. Let me know the cost 
and I will send you a check for the amount. Gen’! Vinal called 
four times while I was absent. Finally, yesterday, he left your 
letter, which reminded me of the matter. J was under the im- 
pression that I had answered your letter, but I had not. 
“With warmest regards, I am, truly yours, 
“P. H. SHERIDAN.” 


“Headquarters Army of the United States, 
“March 19, 1886. 


“My Dear GREINER: Referring to your letter about re- 
pairs which S. writes of I will be glad if you will do what you 
think right in the matter and to see that I am not overcharged. 
I therefore leave the matter entirely in your hands. 

“Yours truly, 
“P. H. SHERIDAN.” 


During the ten years that I had charge of Pigeon Roost 
farm I had but three changes of tenants. With the one 
who remained the longest an incident occurred that was 
characteristic of General Sheridan and was somewhat 
amusing and not a little pathetic. This tenant, “Billy” 
Sharkey, was poor, but honest and straightforward. It was 
probably his second or third year on the farm that a terrific 
storm. passed over that part of the country, violently striking 
the Pigeon Roost farm. 

About a week later, I met “Billy” at an intermediate vil- 
lage and he told me of the effects of the storm. He related 
how destructive it had been to his corn and wheat, which were 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 305 


nearly all destroyed, and he said he could not then see how 
he would be able to pay the rent that year, unless he should 
sell a very promising three-year-old colt which would bring 
seventy dollars, and he could get ten dollars for “Lead” 
(Leader, his valuable dog). 

“I cannot very well spare the young horse, for my mare 
is nearly worn out, and I’d almost rather sell one of my chil- 
dren than sell ‘Lead,’ but, I suppose, I must.” 

The young horse I had seen, but did not know what he 
meant by “Lead.” 

“What is ‘Lead’?” I asked. 

“Why, that good coon dog you were looking at when you 
were down the last time; that’s the best coon dog in Pike 
Township. Ike Enrich will give-me ten dollars for him any. 
day, but I don’t want to sell him. Me and Jane was a-talkin’ 
over this rent business t’other day, and she wanted me to go 
and see you and git you to write to the General to throw off 
half this year’s rent on account of the storm.” 

Now, Billy was poor in all things but two—children and 
dogs. Of these he had an abundance, considering that he 
was still a young man; of children he had six and of dogs the 
same number, but Lead was his favorite because he was a 
coon dog. 

“Yes, Jane wanted me to go up to your town and ax you 
to write to Phil and tell him the storm tuck about all of our 
corn and wheat; and you might tell him we are poor and have 
a good many children, and it’s pretty hard scratching to pay 
the rent even when crops are good. And tell him this—don’t 
forget to tell him that Pap belonged to the 6th corps. I’ve 
heard Pap say that General Sheridan never liked to go into 
a big battle unless the 6th corps was with him. Will you 
write?” 


366 | GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


I told him I would, and that I knew what he said of the 
6th corps was true; also that if he would meet me in two 
weeks at that place I would have the General’s reply. 

I wrote to General Sheridan of the storm and of the re- _ 
quest of the tenant, recommending a deduction of forty dol- 
lars, the amount asked by Billy. The entire rent amounted 
to eighty dollars. 

On the day appointed I went down to meet him. He had 
arrived sooner than I, and was standing on the platform. A 
spirit of mischief suddenly possessed me when I saw his seri- 
ous face. I got the idea to depress him with bad news tem- 
porarily in order that his elation and joy might be greater 
when he heard the facts. 

“Well, Billy, I heard from the General. He did not con- 
sent to throw off the half of the rent.” 

His grave countenance changed to deeper gloom, while 
he said: 

“I was afeered of that from the first, and I told Jane so. 
You see, when a feller gets up in the world and has plenty 
fur himself he furgits what a devil of a time some of us has 
to git along. Well, I'll just have to sell the colt and Lead.” 

Then I said, “Wait, Billy, till I tell you all. General Sher- 
idan says in his letter that he will not charge you any rent this 
year. I told you he would not throw off half; but he says he 
will throw off all.” : 

Then that sun-burned face looked bright, but still had an 
expression of doubt. When finally thoroughly convinced 
that I was serious, he said, “Thank God for little Phil; and 
I thank you for writing. I won’t have to sell the colt nor 
Lead, and I can get Jane that alpaca dress she’s been wanting 
for several years, and other things we’ve needed for a long 
time.”’ 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 367 


Then he hurried over to where the bald-faced colt was 
hitched and mounted and rode home in a hurry to tell Jane 
the good news. 


CHATTER XX: 


FORMAL RECEPTION TO GENERAL SHERIDAN—‘I PROMISED 
MOTHER I WOULD BE HOME TO DINNER. I MUST NOT 
DISAPPOINT HER’ —MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD DAYS. 


largely of Perry County volunteers. In 1886 they 
arranged to hold their yearly reunion at Somerset, 
Perry County, the home of General Sheridan, and in connec- 
tion therewith to give him a formal reception should he meet 
with us. 
At a meeting I was delegated to communicate to him our 
action and write him to be there. 
As the time approached, I received other letters from him 
that assured us of his coming. We then issued the following 
invitations to all the ex-members of the regiment: 


| regiment in which I had served was made up 


“TOM: TALBOT POST, NO. 143, G. Ave 
“Somerset, Ohio, July 24th, 1886. 


“You are cordially invited to be present and participate 
at the eighth annual reunion of the Thirty-First O. V. V. L, 
to be held at Somerset, Ohio, August roth and 11th, 1886, 
under the auspices of Tom Talbot Post, G. A. R. General 
P. H. Sheridan, Perry County’s greatest son, and the coun- 
try’s greatest soldier, will be here to meet and greet the com- 
rades and friends of his boyhood days. General W. H. Gib- 
son, Ohio’s orator, will be present and deliver the oration. 
The following distinguished gentlemen have signified their 
intention to be present: Gen. James S. Robinson, Gen. W. 
H. Ball, Hon. Jos. H. Outhwaite, Hon. John.G. Reeves, Gen. 


368 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 369 


C. H. Grosvenor, Gen. Moses B. Walker, Hon. John McBride, 


Hon. George L. Converse. 
“J. B. Grorr, Adjutant. 
“H. C. GREINER, Com. 


“Committee of Arrangements: 
“E. Kemper, Secretary. T. T. Smitu, Chairman.” 
In one of my letters I told him that some of our citizens 


desired he should bring his uniform and appear in it on one 
day of the exercises. He replied that there was no occasion 
for that kind of formality and display on his part and that 
he would much prefer to see them as a private citizen, not as 
a military officer. He asked that I explain his objection to 
those who had made the request. I did so, but they were not 
satisfied, and insisted that he bring his uniform. The ones 
who made this request were old men and women, and girls 
and boys. I wrote again saying that the passing and the ris- 
ing generations would not excuse him—that he must appear 
one day as a military man. Most of them had never seen 
him as a soldier, and would not be satisfied with less. To 
this he made no positive refusal, and I was confident the re- 
quest, coming from the old people, would be granted. So the 
second day of our program he appeared in the uniform of a 
general of cavalry. 

A reception committee had been sent to Newark, “twenty 
miles away,” to greet him. When he arrived at our station 
and stepped from the cars a cheer went up from the gathered 
thousands that echoed among the hills and valleys for miles. 
As soon as the noise had subsided so that he could be heard, 
he inquired what the program was. 

“Not much today. We will form now, barracks band in 
front, you and the reception committee following in carriages. 


370 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


Then will follow the organizations and citizens, and they will 
escort you home. We will go only as far as Pig Foot Square, 
then countermarch; that will be about all for today. I will 
notify you in time for the exercises tomorrow.”’ Then I con- 
tinued, “General Ball of the 126th Ohio, who served under 
you, will make the welcoming speech, to which you will reply.” 

“You don’t expect me to make a speech, do you?” 

“Yes, indeed, you must say something in reply, to the 
people, even if it be ever so brief. They will expect you to 
say but little, as the weather is so hot.” 

“Well, as I left here while still a boy, my mind naturally 
reverts to that period. So I will address my remarks prin- 
cipally to the boys and young men; I will give them some- 
thing of my experience.” 

We were now ready to start the parade. In my old scrap- 
book I find a description of the first day’s exercises, clipped 
from the Ohio State Journal. The speech he made on this 
occasion was probably the longest he ever made. 

After the speeches were over and the crowd dismissed, 
the General was taken to the residence of M. F. Scott, on the 
public square, as the Sheridan home was fully a half mile 
away. Here an informal reception was held. As old play- 
mates and comrades crowded about him he was so truly one 
of them, that they asked him questions bringing back mem- 
ories of childhood days, such as: 

‘“Wouldn’t you like to go up High street, we we used 
to run races and get apples?” 

“General, would you like to see the old schoolhouse by the 
Lutheran graveyard where Thorn and McManley thrashed 
us? It is still standing. If you will go, Vil send for a 


carriage.” 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—F'RIEND 371 


“Phil, if you say so, I'll send for my buggy and take you 
to Finck’s Springs by the wild plum grove. The water is 
as cold and pure as it was when you were a boy, but the 
grove is gone.” 

But to all these invitations he answered, ‘‘No, I cannot. 
I promised mother to be home for dinner; I must not disap- 
point her. Some other time when I come, and have more 
time, I shall be glad to see those old spots again.” 

The old friends who had not served in the war called him 
Phil, while the ex-soldiers, who had not forgotten military 
etiquette, addressed him as General. 

So far as memory extends, nothing was ever attempted 
in that village, no matter how beautiful, dignified or senti- 
mental, that something did not occur to inject a humorous 
feature. | 

On this occasion General Sheridan was driven up the 
street in a carriage at the head of the parade, preceded only 
by the marshals and by the barracks band, which had one of 
the finest-looking drum majors in the regular army. Of 
course, on this occasion the leader manipulated his baton with 
a grace and skill unprecedented. As we were passing, two 
innocent country girls wedged among the thousands along 
the way, asked a bystander, “Where is General Sheridan? 
Which one is he?” 

The nearest bystander, to whom the questions were ad- 
dressed, happened to be Obe Coleman (no time or place was 
sacred to that wag). Pointing to the conspicuous, gorgeous 
man at the head of the band, he said, ‘“‘That’s him.” 

The girls gazed for some time, then, with a shade of doubt 
and question in her eyes and voice, one asked: ‘Why do you 
call him ‘Little Phil’? He’s not little.” 


372 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Again Coleman was wicked and equal to the emergency, 
as he replied, “Oh, he is little when he gets that big hat off.” 

And to this day, doubtless, those girls, who lived far down 
among the Hocking hills, wondered why Phil Sheridan threw 
that stick about so. 


CHAPTER AX: 


MEETING A VETERAN—THE GENERAL AMUSED AT ‘‘NICK’S”’ 
DESCRIPTION, 


hood home that I shall now speak. The train was due in 

the evening, about dark, but on this occasion it was 
twenty minutes overdue. The General was accompanied by 
his brother, Colonel M. V. Sheridan. They had been sum- 
moned to the old home because of the serious illness of their 
mother. 


E IS of the last visit General Sheridan made to his boy- 


It was the evening after the close of our county fair; a 
cold, muddy evening, in the latter part of October. The 
night they returned I attended them in the hack to the station. 
On my invitation the brothers were present at the races on the 
previous day; we had occupied the judges’ stand to obtain a 
better view. 

This was the first intimation I had had of General Sheri- 
dan’s fatal affliction. I remember he told me he was not feel- 
ing well; he complained of a cold, chilly sensation. I, having 
a heavier overcoat, exchanged with him. I inquired whether 
he had slept well. “Oh, yes,” he replied, “I sleep like a baby. 
It isn’t that. There is something wrong here,” and he laid 
his hand upon his breast. 

This was the beginning of the end of gallant Phil, and I 
sometimes reproach myself with having hastened the end by 
inviting him to that bleak, exposed position to see the horses. 
The next day he told me that the cold feeling was aggravated, 

373 


374 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


indeed, from that on he failed rapidly, although he lived sev- 
eral months longer. 

In the light of subsequent events, I can now see that both 
mother and son were entering the valley of the shadow of 
death together. The mother preceded her boy by only 
two days. 

While occupying our cold position in the judges’ stand, 
there was an intermission in the race program, and, in order 
to avoid the chilly sweep of the wind, I proposed that we take 
a carriage and spend the interval in a visit to the floral hall, 
where I knew there would be less exposure. 

We went, and found that small room filled principally 
with women and children. As soon as we entered, I heard 
on both sides the exclamation, “There is General Sheridan!” 
We were there but a few minutes when Mrs. Isaac Zartman 
came up and said: “This is Phil Sheridan, is it not?” Turn- 
to me, I introduced her. 

“T call you Phil, just as I did when you were in Mr, 
Whitehead’s store. I sold you many pounds of butter—it 
was only worth a fip a pound then—and many dozen of eggs 
I sold you, too, for three cents a dozen. I always liked to 
trade with you; you were so pleasant, correct, and honest, I 
thought.” 

The General’s brown eyes looked pleased, and a smile was | 
on his lips as he thanked her for-her good opinion, saying: 
“I was never a very good boy, but I always tried to do my ~ 
duty toward my ctistomers and employer.” 

Another, and more pathetic scene, followed. An old lady 
came up, extended her hand, and said: 

“General, I knew you when you were with Mr. Talbot, 
and I can say, as the other lady did, that you were a good 
boy. But I wanted to see and speak to you for another reason, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 375 


I had two boys under you in the Shenandoah Valley—the 6th 
corps. One never came back. Poor Ed—he lingered three 
days after he was wounded.” 

“In what battle?’ Phil asked. 

“Winchester,” the old lady replied. 

“Yes, I lost many good boys there; it was a very hard 
battle.” 

“T am always glad to think they stood up for what is 
right, and Ed, I am sure, is better off now than to be in this 
troublesome, wicked world; but it was so hard to give 
him up.” 

I saw the old lady wipe a tear as she turned away. 

Either Phil had seen enough of the flowers and needle- 
work, and whatever else was exhibited in floral hall, or else 
it was too painful for him to bring back sad memories of their 
dead boys to the mothers he found there. At any rate, he 
did not remain long before making this characteristic remark: 
“Let us go back to the horses again.” He never tired of that 
noble animal. So back we went to the races once more. 

On the night of his departure there was no change for the 
better in his condition. He complained of the same: chilli- 
ness; he looked ill. I attributed much of his low spirits to 
the serious illness of his mother, not dreaming that this was 
the first stage of the disease that would in a few months com- 
pel a reluctant but complete surrender. 

When we arrived at the station, we found it dimly lighted 
by a single small lamp which sent its uncertain rays upon two 
persons standing by the stove. One of them was the Metho- 
dist minister, the other a somewhat eccentric, harmless char- 
acter, an ex-soldier who had been born and reared in that 
locality, but was then working in the northern part of the 


376 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


county. He had been on one of his periodical drunks during 
the fair and was now on his way home, several miles up the 
road. When I came near the stove he recognized me, which 
reminded him of his long-delayed pension. He opened con- 
versation by a violent attack upon President Cleveland with 
a stream of sulphurous oaths. 

Having been a soldier, and in politics, I was regarded by 
ex-soldiers as common property to be called upon at any time 
to write letters to the Commissioner of Pensions on behalf 
of their pending claims. ‘This man had repeatedly called on 
me for that purpose. The matter had now been pending for 
more than three years, and you may know that his patience 
was exhausted. I remember how the poor old fellow always 
wound up his story with the request that I be sure and tell 
them that “he couldn’t wait any longer—he needed it bad.” 

While the befogged veteran was profanely tongue-lashing 
the President, I interrupted him by saying I was surprised 
and shocked to hear so good a soldier and citizen use such 
language in the presence of General Sheridan and the Rev. 
Frey. Then “Nick’’ looked inquiringly at me and repeated: 
“Rev. Sheridan and Gen. Frey? What do you mean, Cap?” 

“T mean that you are very profane in the presence of 
General Sheridan and Rev. Frey.” 

“General Sheridan! Where is he?’ 

“Standing by your side.” 

His eyes turned in the direction I indicated. Then I be- 
held the strangest and most amusing combination of expres- 
sions mingling upon his face—surprise, mortification, uncer- 
tainty and affection, all seemed to be there. For some time 
he appeared so dazed that he did not, or could not, express 
Ihimself. He kept looking at the General and tightly holding 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND B77. 


his hand. Upon finally regaining his speech, his first words 
were: 

“God bless you, General. ’Tis you. I didn’t know you 
was near me, an’ didn’t know you had come to town. I 
thought Cap. Greiner was only fooling me. When did you 
git to town?” 

“Two days ago, to see mother, who is very ill. I was 
sorry to hear you swearing so when we came in. I remember 
your family well.” 

“T tell you, General, it’s enough to make a saint swear the 
way Cleveland has been treating me about my pension. I 
hope you'll forgive me for swearing, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Then he dropped the General’s hand and slowly raised his 
head as if he saw a picture far away, and from his after- 
remarks we learned that he was looking at one that was indel- 
ibly impressed upon the memory of the old veteran. It was 
a picture dim to his mind in the condition it was then in, but 
one that could not be obliterated. It was a hideous panorama 
of death, defeat, humiliation, panic and disgrace. But this 
sad scene was followed by a bright and glorious one, the 
change proclaimed by loud cheers that had a ring totally dif- 
ferent from the yell of the enemy. Then a black horse and 
rider plunged into sight, the rider swinging his hat and calling 
upon the boys to “face the other way.” 

Now the old soldier had shaped these scenes into words, 
for, slowly and with some uncertainty, he said: 

“It seems to me there’s others besides me that swears; I’m 
not the only one that sins in that line. Hold on, Phil—hold 
on, General—I think I heard you do some pretty tall swearin’ 
once or twice; I’m not the only one. Don’t you mind, Gen- 
eral, at Cedar Creek, and in front of Petersburg, when the 


378 GENERAL PuIL H. SHERIDAN 


5th Corps did not come up quick enough into battle line to suit 
you, how you swore—don’t you mind?” 

The General, somewhat amused at Nick’s description, said: 

“You cannot believe all you read; the reporters did me 
injustice sometimes. Newspaper men are often imaginative.” 

“Yes, but I was there myself. It was at Cedar Creek I 
got the wound in my leg. I heard you swear. I was sittin’ 
down leanin’ against a fence corner, another wounded feller 
with me, when we heard the cheering. He heard it first and 
got up, looked all around, and said: ‘It’s our side that’s 
cheering. They are coming from Winchester. I see a man 
on a black horse coming this way as hard as he can come. 
He’s swingin’ his hat and talkin’ to the boys to follow him, 
an’ hundreds of them have turned back to come with him.’ 
It was you. When you came nearer I could hear ‘em holler, 
‘It’s Sheridan! It’s Sheridan!’ Then everyone who could 
walk got up an’ cheered, an’ followed you. Yes, we were 
badly whipped before you came, and we all felt mean. I 
can’t tell you how bad we felt before we saw you coming. I 
hollered at you myself as you passed, but I was lyin’ down 
an’ you couldn’t hear me. I hollered, ‘Here’s a Perry County 
boy, but you couldn’t hear, there was so much fuss an’ cheerin’. 
Why, General, I knowed you when you was a little boy; we 
only lived three miles from Somerset. Yes, you did swear 
at Cedar Creek.” 

“It may be possible, Nick, but that was under peculiar 
and trying circumstances. I was young then and have quit 
the habit long ago.” 

“Well, General, I am under pretty trying conditions now, 
myself, an’ that’s what makes me swear. But if you'll do 
one thing for me, I’ll promise to quit swearin’ an’ drinkin’.” 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 379 


“What do you want me to do?” asked the General. 

“When you go back to Washington, go an’ see old Cleve- 
land and git him to go to General Black and tell him to allow 
my pension. Black’s all right, but the trouble is with Cleve- 
land—he’s down on me for something. I want you to help 
me; I’m in a tight place. Some of my enemies have writ 
some lies to Cleveland, I expect, an’ for that reason he’s down 
on me. You see, I’m gettin’ old and can’t clear land and 
split rails and dig coal, as I used to. Iam poor an’ want help, 
an’ I can’t get it, for Cleveland is down on me.” 

General Sheridan promised to see to it, adding that in 
all probability the President had never heard either of the case 
or his name mentioned, as it was outside of his official duties. 
This aroused Nick’s indignation, and he already forgot his 
promise not to swear, for he said: 

“Oh, the hell, he hasn’t heard of me! Most everybody 
knows me. Here’s Cap. Greiner has writ a dozen letters 
down there to hurry my claim. No! He is down on me an’ 
I can’t tell what it’s about. You go an’ see him an’ find out 
what he is mad at me about, an’ if you git the pension for me 
an’ ever hear of me swearin’ or drinkin’ ag’in, you may take 
the pension away from me.” 

“What is the number of your pension? Tell Captain 
Greiner and he will send it to me.” 

I am glad to say for old Nick that a few weeks later he 
came rushing into my office with the glad tidings that his 
claim had been allowed. Whether General Sheridan was 
instrumental or not, I do not know, but the old fellow gave 
him the credit. , 

The belated train came around the curve through the deep 
cut and the Sheridans, the minister, and Nick started to board 


380 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


it. The General looked so feeble that I asked leave to carry 
his hand satchel. As he stepped slowly from the platform to 
the car step, he turned and said: 

“Good-bye, old boy, until we meet again.” 

That was the last time I ever saw him alive. I often 
wonder if we shall meet in the other life. 

The cold winds whistled and moaned through those hills 
and valleys; the shivering snowdrops of March were fol- 
lowed by the green fields and shady groves of summer, and, 
later, autumn’s splendor, but the brave little soldier never 
returned. 

Speaking of General Sheridan’s swearing, I will say that, 
so far as I could see, there were only two points on which he 
was sensitive—he did not wish to go down into history as a 
profane man, and he did not wish it to be generally under- 
stood that he was reckless. The truth is, no general studied 
his plans more carefully—he left absolutely nothing to chance. 
Some expressed the opinion that he was reckless, but lucky. 
On the contrary, his plans were always well matured and his 
movements based on careful calculation. He owed nothing 
to luck, any more than did Napoleon, Washington or Grant. 

Returning to the topic of the general’s last visit to Som- 
erset, I would add that it was about this time that the deadly 
pallor became apparent on his countenance which proved the 
forerunner of the last and fatal inroads of the enemy. His 
mother, too, lay in her last lingering illness while months 
passed and spring deepened into summer. Because of some 
exposure on the general’s part, the disease made a more de- 
termined attack at this time, so for awhile it was uncertain 
whether the mother or the son would first reach the distant 
shore. For obvious reasons, the serious illness of the son 


PLaAyMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 381 


was not communicated to the mother, nor was the son aware 
of his mother’s dangerous condition. When the end came, 
there was but a few days between the two. 

It was said in our village that when Phil saw death near, 
his soul, weary from long illness, wandered away from the 
trappings of war to his dear old mother among the hills of 
Perry. He asked that she be sent for and, if she could not 
come, to be taken to her. She had been his stay through all 
the years before he came into prominence, and he wanted her 
near him in the final struggle. It is said, too, that he longed 
for the green fields and rocky slopes of his early home. 

Sheridan was always true to his friends and never forgot 
the old attachments, but he could not forgive disloyalty or 
treason in his associates, 

A former citizen of our village, and a friend of Sheridan’s 
when they were both boys or very young men, married and 
settled in Virginia. He was one of those who are always on 
the ‘‘make,”’ even if it be at the expense of the mother country. 
This man was a non-combatant, but was detected giving aid 
to the enemies of his country, by carrying drugs and medi- 
cines through the lines. He was tried, found guilty, and was 
about to be sent to military prison. As a last resort he asked 
to be brought to General Sheridan, in whose department he 
had committed the crime. But General Sheridan could not 
forgive him for selling his country, and declined to interfere 
in the sentence. 

I remember the case of a Catholic priest who was arrested 
in the Shenandoah Valley for violating the privileges ac- 
corded the clergy. The charge was carrying information to 
the enemy. He was tried and sent to military prison under 
Sheridan’s orders. I refer to the latter incident in order that 
those who are of the opinion that with Catholics their religion 


382 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


comes first, and oath and country are secondary considera- 
tions, may have that erroneous impression corrected. It is 
well known that Sheridan was a strict Catholic. 

It was afterward, I think, between the years 1884 and 1886, 
that General Sheridan called on me during one of his yearly 
visits to our place. A week or two previous to this call I had 
read a very elaborate and lengthy editorial in the New York 
Herald urging his candidacy for the Presidency. During our 
conversation I referred to this editorial, asking if he had seen 
it and, if so, what he thought of it. 

“There is nothing in that. Even could I be elected, I 
would not think of being President. Yes, I saw it. Some- 
one sent me a marked copy.” : 

I told him I was in hopes he would consider the matter 
favorably. The editorial had been very significant, coming, 
as it did, from the most powerful Democratic paper in the 
country, and he being a pronounced Republican. 

“TI hope you will overcome your prejudices against politics 
and if you are pressed to take the nomination by your party, 
will do so. Don’t be so emphatic in your objections. Con- 
sider what you could do for me and for your other poor 
friends in case you were elected.” 

He had-been looking at a war scene on the wall, his back 
turned toward me, when I made this remark. He turned, 
saying with an air of reproach: 

“You know something of politics and should be the last 
one to advise me to adopt such a course. You should remem- 
ber that I have never been anything but a soldier and, at my 
age, with no previous political experience, to plunge myself 
into a sea of strange trouble and vexation, make myself the 
subject of abuse and slander, and, if elected, burden myself 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 383 


with great responsibilities, would, I am sure, crush me to my 
grave. Now, do you still advise me to go into politics?” 

Seeing how earnest he was and how true was his con- 
tention, I could but say: 

“You are right! Never, never think of accepting the 
nomination, even should they offer it to you.” 

At the Chicago convention in 1880 he could have had the 
Republican nomination for the asking, but he declined the 
honor. As a Republican and a staunch friend of General 
Grant, he took his place on the platform in the interest of his 
old commander. Whether he really believed in the policy of 
a third term may be questioned, but he did believe in Grant. 
At one period in the proceedings when it became apparent 
that Grand could not get the nomination a vote was cast for 
Philip H. Sheridan. It was a critical moment. Any strong 
man could have carried the convention by storm, as Garfield 
did a few hours later, and it was the opportunity of Sheri- 
dan’s life had he wanted to be President. Old soldier that 
he was, he could not fail to see that the cause of his chief 
was lost for a third term, but Sheridan was made of different 
stuff from some other delegates to the convention, and breaking 
loose from those who would hold him back he sprang to the 
front, and in words that could not be misunderstood declared 
that he would, under no circumstances, accept the nomination, 
but was for Grant. Every person present knew that Sheridan 
meant just what he said at that time, and the whole country 
knew his meaning some years ago when he said emphatically 
that he would not accept a nomination at the hands of the 
approaching Chicago convention. He had achieved the height 
of his ambition when he became commander of the army. 

The following letter received when I asked for the re- 
tention of a Republican friend during Cleveland’s administra- 


384 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


tion shows that Sheridan did not like to have “anything to 
do with politics,” but would still do all he could for a friend, 
even under a Democratic administration : 


“August 23rd, 1885. 
“Headquarters Army of the U. S., Cape Vincent. 


“My Dear Henry GREINER: 

“T have your letter of Aug. 19th. The letter containing 
the proposition from Nye has not come to hand. The Asbrook 
matter was referred to the P. M. Gen. for favorable consider- 
ation. I do not have anything to do with politics, but hope 
he may favorably consider it. It was sent to him out of con- 
sideration to you. I am up here for a week or two of rest 
or fishing, but anything sent to me to Washington will reach 
me here. 

“With kind regards, my dear Greiner, I am, 

“Yours truly, 
“(Signed) P. H. SHERIDAN.” 


In 1882, soon after General Sheridan’s promotion to be 
general of the army, I had business in Washington; of course 
IT called to see him, to pay my respects and to personally con- 
gratulate him on his promotion. He was almost alone; there 
were only a clerk or two and a military messenger standing 
by. As usual, he gave me a cordial reception. After a twenty- 
minute talk of home, past and present, I extended my hand, 
saying I must leave on the next train. 

“Don’t go yet; go up with me to lunch. I want you to see 
little Phil; he’s a boy now—when you last saw him he was 
only a baby. On our way up we will stop and see a pair of 
Kentucky horses Mrs. Sheridan bought the other day. And, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 385 


especially, do I want you to see the handsome residence my 
Chicago friends presented me.” 

His invitation was so earnest that I could not refuse. We 
stopped to see the horses, which were not far from the War 
Department. They were a splendid pair of bays. The only 
objection one could make to them was that they were bobbed. 
We lunched with Mrs. Sheridan and the bright, pretty chil- 
dren, whose delicate features resembled their mother, with 
the exception of the boy, in whose face the rugged outline of 
his father’s physiognomy could be distinguished. I spent the 
greater part of two pleasant hours in the room where the 
general kept his relics, trophies and presents. Around the 
room and on the walls were many souvenirs of the chase and 
of war. He called my attention to a Rocky Mountain goat, 
perfectly mounted. 

“That, Greiner, was one of the best shots I ever made. 
You know how extremely cautious they are and how inac- 
cessible their haunts, but after a long hunt and great labor I 
got a shot at him. This grizzly bear I assisted in bagging. 
You know it’s no child’s play to tackle one.” 

Pointing to an immense wild turkey, mounted on a ped- 
estal, he observed: 

“Tt took a long shot to bring that fellow.” 

I greatly admired a Mexican saddle presented to him by 
some Mexican general, or generals, the workmanship of which 
was so elaborate that it had taken years to complete it. The 
buckles and other metallic parts were of solid silver and gold, 
and it was a most appropriate gift to an immortal rider. The 
presentation of this saddle represented the grateful apprecia- 
tion of the givers for the invaluable services General Sheridan 
rendered that country when it was conquered by the French 
and governed by the unfortunate Maximillian, who was but 


386 GENERAL PuiL H. SHERIDAN 


the innocent dupe of that pompous fraud, Napoleon the Third. 

Grant and Sheridan had keenly smarted under the insult 
offered by Napoleon in his attempt to force a monarchy upon 
this continent at the time when we were in a desperate struggle 
for life, and they could not resist the temptation to get even 
after the war was over. Sheridan, who was eager, was ordered 
to take three corps to Texas and the Rio Grande, and, if he 
felt so inclined, to push things. This part of the order was 
verbal, indeed, sub rosa. When our soldiers reached the 
banks of the Rio Grande, ostensibly every preparation was 
made for crossing. The French became alarmed, and their 
Minister at Washington flew to Secretary Seward to inquire 
the meaning of our movements, and to ask that Sheridan be 
halted. By instructions from our Secretary, Sheridan was 
halted. Chagrined and impatient, he lay idle for a few days. 
Then his patriotic impulses got the better of him again and 
he commenced moving his corps as if with the intention of 
crossing. Once more dispatches flew thick and fast to the 
French Minister at Washington. ‘Then came emphatic in- 
structions to. Sheridan that he must do nothing to bring on a 
war with France. Impatient and disgusted he sat down again. 
I had it from his own lips that it was tne most trying ordeal 
of his life to remain on our side of the river. 

But our object was accomplished. Through the diplo- 
matic skill of Seward and the warlike demonstrations of Gen- 
eral Sheridan, the French became demoralized and Maximil- 
lian’s forces abandoned northern Mexico. With Phil’s corps 
on the east bank of the Rio Grande, with bristles up, showing 
their teeth, the Mexicans took heart, and soon the invaders 
took ship and sailed. Thus the last act in the tragedy of the 
rebellion (for it was part of the plan of the rebellion) was 
played on Mexican soil. 


MARY SHERIDAN 
Mother of the General 


CHAPTER XXII. 


PARENTS OF GENERAL SHERIDAN—A FITTING TRIBUTE FOR A 
NOBLE LITTLE WOMAN, WHO GAVE ALL HER SONS TO 


THEIR COUNTRY. 


OHN SHERIDAN, the father of Philip H. Sheridan, 
was born in the County of Cavan, Ireland. He came 
to this country about two years before Philip was born. 

He was an industrious, cheery, intelligent, good-hearted 
citizen. After he had completed his contract to build a por- 
tion of the railroad through our place, which contract did not 
turn out to his financial advantage, he devoted his time and 
energy to tilling the little farm of twenty-three acres which 
he owned near the village. 

He died May 5th, 1875. As was the custom in that lo- 
cality a couple of neighbors, myself one of them, remained 
at the Sheridan cottage that night. The day following the 
general arrived. Mrs. McIntire, a kindly neighbor, who had 
quietly assumed charge of the necessary activities, thus reliev- 
ing Mrs. Sheridan, told me that the general had not seen his 
father as yet, and suggested that I ask him if he wished to 
do so. I did ask, and in reply he said that his mother had in- 
formed him there had been a great change in the appearance 
of his father after death, therefore he would prefer not to 
look upon him now. For this same reason he had not viewed 
the remains of his much beloved sister who had died a few 
years previous in great suffering. He wished to remember 
them as they had looked when in health. 

Some thought it strange that when Grant, his chief, was 

387 


388 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


dying, Phil did not visit him. It was to save the dying gen- 
eral’s feelings, as well as his own, that he did not look upon 
his friend in his last hours of suffering. 

“Without Sheridan, Grant’s triumph would not have been 
so complete; for it was Sheridan, who, by rapid marches and 
incessant blows, secured the enveloping, and thus the sur- 
render, of Lee. After this the intimacy grew out of achieve- 
ment. While Grant was sick and dying Sheridan wrote: ‘It 
is unnecessary for me to use words to express my attachment 
to General Grant and his family. I have not gone to see him, 
as I could only bring additional distress to them, and I want 
to remember him as I knew him in good health!’ ” 

General Sheridan probably saw more dead men during his 
time than any other man living at that time, but with all this 
he would, if possible, avoid the sight of one. 

Mary Minah Sheridan, the mother of Philip, was also 
born in the County of Cavan, Ireland. She died June 12th, 
1888, aged 87 years and two months. She sank into death 
as an infant goes to sleep, the transition being so gentle as to 
be almost imperceptible. This was a fitting death for a noble 
little woman whose sole aim in life appeared to be the fulfill- 
ment of her duty to family, friends, country and God. No 
honors could elate her, but she was sensible and grateful for 
every blessing. 

When she died, the poor had one friend less. The needy, 
wandering soldier never found a more hospitable welcome 
than Mrs. Sheridan would extend. Many of them would drop 
in, when in our vicinity, to see the mother of General Sheri- 
dan. There was a generosity and gentility of nature in her 
that made her beloved by all. 

Inasmuch as she had always been kind to the soldiers 
and had freely given all her sons to the service of their coun- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 389 


try, I thought it fitting that a guard of honor composed of 
veterans should escort her to her grave. Acting on this 
thought I sent a note out to her son John, he being the only 
son then at home (Phil was dying at Nonquit at this time), 
asking if it would be agreeable to the family to have a detail 
present for that purpose. The reply came that there would be 
no objection. A called meeting of Tom Talbot Post was held 
that night and the detail selected. It unintentionally occurred 
that they were all wounded soldiers except myself. 

The funeral was one of the most impressive I ever wit- 
nessed, and was as simple as it was impressive. No nodding 
plumes nor glittering hearse were there—they were not need- 
ed, for six of the nearest neighbors took up the light remains 
of the Spartan mother, carried them down the slope and up 
the hill, only a short distance from her home, where the cor- 
tege was met at the cemetery gate by good Father Noon, who 
conducted it to the grave. By the side of each carrier marched 
an ex-soldier, the guard of honor, clad in the regulation blue 
of the Grand Army of the Republic. What we observed that 
day in our ceremonies over the burial of Mrs. Sheridan was 
probably the nearest to a military burial that any woman ever 
received in this country. ; 

I remember having said once to Mrs. Sheridan, “Is not 
this home too small for yon now? When the general and 
colonel visit you you will not have room for the callers. Let 
me trade you my house; possibly you would prefer living in 
town. Mine is a little larger. You know it would be more 
convenient when the boys return.” 

“I know the house is small for the occasions to which you 
refer. They have often spoken of building us a larger one, 
but I won’t hear to it. . No, I would not exchange with any 
one, I will never forsake this, From that gate by the road, 


390 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


and this door, I waited and watched for years for the boys 
to return from war. In this house Mary and father died. 
This house has witnessed the loves, hopes, joys and sorrows 
of so much of my life that I cannot think of leaving it while 
I live. No! I would not exchange.” 

The year before Mrs. Sheridan died the state of Ohio cele- 
brated its first centennial anniversary. One of the features 
of the celebration, which was held at Columbus, was an exhibi- 
tion of relics representing some of the state’s most distin- 
guished citizens, born or adopted. 

Mr. Graham of Columbus was secretaary of the committee 
on arrangements as well as its most active member. He came 
to Somerset on this business and, finding that I was a former 
acquaintance of his, he called on me, stating the object of his 
visit. This object was to secure the loan of the cradle that 
had rocked Phil Sheridan, hearing that it was still in pos- 
session of the family. Being a stranger to them he requested 
me to go out with him and introduce him. I had never heard 
of the cradle, and expressed doubt that they still had it. How- 
ever, we went to the Sheridan home and, after presenting 
Mr. Graham, I stated the purpose of his call. I was not sur- 
prised to hear that the cradle had not been seen in many years. 
Mrs. Sheridan told us the story of its disappearance, which 
is as follows: 

“When we lived in town a very poor family who lived near 
us borrowed it when their first-born came, and kept it until 
their third child had been rocked in it. We never saw it again, 
nor did I care, for it was not a very substantial or elegant piece 
of furniture when it left us, and was probably much the worse 
for wear when they moved away.” 

After giving us the history of the cradle, there ensued a 
slight pause, which the old lady broke, saying: 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 391 


“So it is Phil’s cradle you desire, Mr. Graham, and came 
all the way from Columbus to secure it. Why shouldn’t the 
cradle that rocked the Walker boys, or my John, or Mr. 
Greiner, or the Martin boys, who never came back to their 
poor old mother after the war, why should not a cradle that 
rocked any of those boys do as well? They were all soldiers.” 

There was a tinge of sarcasm in her remark which I 
thought Mr. Graham would not understand, and even if he 
did it would embarrass him to answer, so I came to his rescue 
and answered: 

“You know, Mrs. Sheridan; we never distinguished our- 
selves; we never won great battles, nor did we make a great 
rides’ 

“No! Probably you made no great rides, but you made 
the great marches through heat, cold, hunger and thirst; I 
am sure it is easier to ride than to march. Mr. Graham, if you 
can find a cradle that has rocked a private soldier, take it up 
with you. It might not be appreciated by some, but it would 
be by me.” 

Mrs. Sheridan always disliked to see the private soldiers 
overlooked, not because her brightest boy had been a private, 
but because of that strong democratic sentiment that stands 
up for the more humble patriot. 

As Mr. Graham secured nothing from the Sheridan home 
that he thought would be available for the exhibition, I con- 
tributed the saddle which General Sheridan gave me, together 
with other relics. 

To his mother, Phil was not the invincible fighter, the son 
who made the Northern cavalry a conquering cyclone, whom 
to meet was destruction to the foe. She never referred to him 
as distinguished, but would often speak of his goodness to 
her, even from the time when he was a little boy; neither could 


392 GENERAL PuiIL H. SHERIDAN 


she understand why visitors so often referred to him as 
“famous.” In her estimation, his domestic traits were far 
more admirable, but at the same time she felt a just pride and 
unshaken confidence in his military ability. 

I have a little silk flag that, as the years roll by, I prize 
more and more highly. Its needle work was done by Mrs. 
Sheridan, it being the last she did—when she was 87 years 
old. It was originally printed, having on some of its stripes 
political inscriptions. Those were cut out, others substituted 
by her, and it was finished and brought to me on the 22nd 
day of February, 1887. It came to me in this way: 

I was at her home on some business pertaining to the 
general’s affairs. During the conversation she spoke of her 
declining health and very feeble condition. I could plainly 
see that she had not many more months to live, and said, 
“Mrs. Sheridan, I should like very much to have a memento 
from you. The general, when he lived in Chicago, sent me 
several without a request on my part, but I take the liberty 
of asking you for something by which to remember you.” 

“Oh, I have nothing you would like or that would be ap- 
propriate. If I was not so weak I would sew you something 
for my eyesight is still good.” | 

I then thought of my political flag and told her of it— 
that the stars should remain, she to replace the stripes. 

“Well, send or bring it out and I will try. There is 
nothing I would rather work on than the American flag. 
Give me a long time, a month or two, and I think I can have 
it finished. Cynthia (speaking to the housekeeper), will you 
see to it that I do a little at it each day when I am able?” 

Cynthia promised to remind and encourage her in the 
work, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 393 


“T often thought of giving you something by which to- 
remetnber me, for you were so good to Johnny when you 
were out.” 

“T can’t remember being partial or good to John any morq 
than to others. I would not do that even if he was the 
brother of a general. Mrs. Sheridan,,I was not better to John 
than I was to poor Tim McCarty, who had not a friend in the 
world, he told me.” 

“Yes, he told me he stayed in your tent, where he had 
more room than he would have had in one of those dog tents. 
He could read and sleep with more comfort.” 

“T did that for my own enjoyment. He is so entertain- 
ing as a talker and so much better educated than I that I could 
learn from him, and besides, he was such a good story-teller 
that I wanted him near for that reason, too.” 

“Then, when he was sick with fever and disliked to go 
to the hospital you detailed Noah May as a nurse. You could 
not have selected a better one for that duty, or kinder. Yes, 
I will work hard to make you the flag.” 

When I received it from the hands of Mrs. Boling I saw 
that the stitching was very poorly done, and it could not be 
otherwise, for the hand was trembling with old age and the 
weakness of approaching death. Her womanly pride was 
ashamed of it, for she apologized for its poor execution the 
first time we met. Mrs. Boling told me when she brought it 
that, “Often and often would I gently encourage the old lady 
to take a few more stitches, for I knew she could not live 
many months longer.” 

It can be truly said that Phil Sheridan’s brother died mak- 
ing the American flag, for this was the last piece of work 
she did. 


394 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 
AN INCIDENT—AN OBLIGATION—A DYING HERMIT’S WISH. 


There would come a man of peculiar appearance, always 
clad in cheap, threadbare clothing, to the postoffice to which I 
was attached in the southwest portion of Chicago. He came 
every day for ten years, excepting Sunday; deep snows, in- 
tense cold or heat, were no obstacle. From his many visits for 
so long a time we became well acquainted. After securing his 
mail, his stay was brief. I learned that he was a graduate of 
the University of Vermont and had taught school in many 
parts of Illinois. Questions would often arise in my mind 
which I would submit to him, always receiving a correct an- 
swer. His memory was phenomenal. He received more mail 
than any other person. Notwithstanding his many visits to 
our suburb, he knew no one but those with whom he had trans- 
tions, and they were few. His hermit home was four miles 
southwest of the postoffice. After several years we became, to 
some extent, intimate friends. His habits of life were extreme- 
ly frugal, excepting in one respect; in this he was a spendthrift. 
He would pay any price for a book that appealed to his desires, 
generally purchased at auction from the Boston sale of old 
and rare books, he receiving every three months a catalogue of 
the coming sales. A few weeks before his death he received 
“McKenzie’s Explorations of the Great Northwest,” printed 
over one hundred years ago. This cost him twelve dollars. 
The same mail brought him a small worm-eaten book 
which cost four dollars. Finding what a mania he had for 
books, I, being encumbered with books too scientific for my 
mental calibre, gave them to the recluse. He was very grate- 
ful, emphasizing his gratitude, knowing I was from Ohio, by 
presenting me with Henry Howe’s two large volumes of “His- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—1'RIEND 395 


torical Collections of Ohio.” Removing the wrapping from 
the books, he asked what county I had lived in in Ohio. He 
opened that page, saw an engraving of General Phil Sheridan, 
and asked if I knew him. 

“Yes, we were playmates and schoolmates. I also served 
under him in the Shenandoah Valley.” 

Many questions followed, when he told me he had two rela- 
tives who served under him in that Valley, belonging to the 
First Vermont Cavalry; he had heard them speak of him asa 
wonderful soldier; always eager to fight; they thought he was 
fond of war and fighting. I told Mr. Belknap (the hermit) 
that he was not fond of war; by nature kind and gentle. 
I knew every side of him, from every standpoint, and related 
some incidents that surprised him. 

“The world should know this. His history should be so 
recorded. Why not write this and let his countrymen know 
the truth?” 

“T cannot very well resign this office to attempt that. I am 
too weary after hours to work longer. I am old and not in 
good health; besides it takes money to publish a book.” He 
quickly said: 

“T will assist in that line. I will advance you two hundred 
dollars any day you desire it.” 

A week after he came to me very ill, saying he could not 
care for himself; where could he go? I could not leave the 
office then, but gave him a letter of introduction to a lady who 
sometimes kept boarders, pointing to the house. He was re- 
ceived. Next day I called to see him. He told me he would 
soon die, which I could plainly see. He had written to his 
brother in Kansas that he would prefer dying there; that he 
had no regrets excepting the non-completion of the genealogy 


396 GENERAL Puit H. SHERIDAN 


of his family, beginning with his grandfather, who was a Rev- 
olutionary soldier, dying in a British prison ship. He asked me 
to send for an attorney. He desired to make his will. I sent 
for Mr. Booz, in the Ashland Block. I told him I had no 
claims to the two hundred dollars he had given me and that 
I would return them, as possibly he might have reconsidered 
the matter. 

“No, no; I would rather add to that small amount. I con- 
sider it an honor to assist in a cause so patriotic and worthy.” 

“Mr. Belknap, is there anything you wish said for you 
as to this gift?” 

“Yes; you can say that I am proud to do something for 
the memory of one who did so much for his country, with the 
many admirable traits you tell me he possessed. I shall be 
dead then, and I will consent to having this said.” 

In our long friendship I never heard him speak an unkind 
word of anyone. He was a typical Puritan, humble, refined, 
sensitive and modest. He, with his 2,700 volumes of scientific 
books, started for Kansas a day or two after his brother’s ar- 
rival. He lived there a few days only. He was born and is 
now buried in South Royalton, Vermont. 

Governor McKinley was making his second campaign for 
Governor and on that business he visited our village to make 
a night speech. I, being in politics and having a personal ac- 
quaintance with him, the committee on arrangements delegated — 
me to the pleasant duty of entertaining him. He was com- 
pelled, by reason of the few passenger trains, to arrive in the 
forenoon. During our conversation in the afternoon, he asked 
me who was left of the Sheridan family (he knew this was 
their home). My reply was, John L., wife and two daughters. 


JOHN SHERIDAN 
Father of the General 


© 


ay 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 397 


“John? I never heard of that brother. He was not a sol- 
dier, was he?” 

“Yes; he was a private in my company. We served in the 
Shenandoah Valley.” 

I shall never forget the astonished expression of his gray 
eyes when I told him that John was only a private. 

“How did he compare mentally with his brother?” 

“He was the superior, with the faculty of fluent speech and 
eloquence which you know the general and the other brother 
did not have. He had a wonderful memory; one of the best 
story-tellers I ever heard. Being so well educated and so en- 
tertaining, I invited him to make my tent his quarters. My 
object was to learn from him.” 

“Will I not see him?” 

“TI doubt that he is able to be out of bed, from a bad case 
of rheumatism. If we have not too many callers this after- 
noon we will call to see him.” 

“Did General Sheridan bring home many trophies from 
the war?” | 

“Not many that I have seen from the Civil War; only his 
headquarters flags, guidons and battleflags, quite a number of 
Indian war relics.” 

“T should like very much to have a relic or memento from 
the family if it should be ever so insignificant.” 

My reply to this was, if we called at the Sheridan home 
and received nothing I would see to it that he should have 
something in that line. Several years passed before I again 
thought of my promise to send the then President a memento 
or relic of the Sheridans. I could think of nor secure any- 
thing that I thought suitable but the little silk flag that the 
mother of Phil had made for me during her last days. To in- 


398 GENERAL Pui, H. SHERIDAN 


sure its delivery, I sent it to Mrs. Phil Sheridan to be deliv- 
ered, as can be seen by the following letter. This is the same 
little flag that was on exhibit at the World’s Columbian Ex- 
position at Chicago in 1893. Ona visit there I could not locate 
my Sheridan flag, so I wrote to the Secretary, and Mrs. Shert- 
dan thus explained matters: 
“March 31st, I190I. 

“My Dear Mr. GREINER: 

“The check for $500 from Mr. Blood reached me safely, 
also the little flag which I will give to the President in a day 
or two and will write you when it is delivered. 

“Sincerely yours, 
“IRENE RUCKER SHERIDAN.” 


As General Sheridan’s black horse immortalized himself 
by carrying his rider twenty miles to the battle of Cedar Creek 
and saving the day, I shall devote this chapter principally to 
the General’s horse. When transferred from West to East to 
take command of the Potomac cavalry, Sheridan started from 
Louisville, Kentucky, by boat with four horses; he disem- 
barked at Cincinnati, to go by rail. The horses, under the 
care of a staff officer, continued to Parkersburg, Va., by boat, 
where they were met by John L. Sheridan, who brought two of 
them, a black mare and a chestnut horse, home to the village 
of Somerset. On one of these was a peculiar-looking saddle 
that General Sheridan gave to me after the war. A black and 
a gray horse were left on the boat to be taken east to the Army 
of the Potomac. The black mare sent to Somerset was en- 
titled to the name of “Balck Beauty,’ on account of her appear- 
ance, at least. She was of Kentucky stock, in build perfect, 
but almost too small to be a war horse with a heavy rider. Al- 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 399 


though of symmetrical mould, the important points were pow- 
erfully developed. In disposition she was equally perfect, with 
one or two exceptions. She refused to be a draft animal and 
she refused to recognize and care for her offspring. 

After the war I rode her on several occasions and found 
her to be the best trained saddle horse I ever rode. She could 
furnish any gait the rider desired and seemed to know by in- 
stinct the speed required. Her favorite gait was a swinging 
pace from which she would go if urged by word or the bridle 
rein into a rack, or canter, always with the ease of a cradle and 
the grace of an antelope. When standing or walking she 
would coquettishly toss her pretty heatd, seemingly to invite 
attention to her fine face and neck. The almost constant toss- 
ing of her head would rattle the cavalry bit and chain, which I 
think she enjoyed, for she never tired of this music while 
standing or walking. Under the saddle she was perfectly gen- 
tle and courageous, but there she drew the line. If any attempt 
was made to make her work in harness, it transformed her 
from the peaceful “beauty” toa demon. To draw a load was, 
in her estimation, menial; her aristocratic instincts resented it 
with rage and indignation. If the effort was persisted in, 
kicks and plunges would follow until she had extricated herself 
from the hated bonds. The attempt was often made while she 
was with the Sheridans, with the same result; then all effort 
in this line ceased, she being kept only for the saddle. 

Not many years after the war she became the mother of a 
beautiful colt. It was then that her second shortcoming devel- 
oped itself. The colt, being very pretty, was welcomed by ev- 
eryone but the unnatural mother. Instead of being the object 
of her tenderest solicitude, it was spurned and repulsed, and, 
to save its life, a separation had to be effected between the 


400 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


little daughter and its mother, and the colt was reared by hand. 

Her unpardonable treatment of her colt had a tendency to 
alienate the fondness of the Sheridans for her and ultimately 
led to her banishment. The first sin they could easily con- 
done, but the second they would not. She was sold at a com- 
paratively low price to a horse dealer who lived in the next 
town. | 

Several years later I saw her in harness, and the sight was 
painful. It took but one glance to see that her proud spirit had 
been broken. She had at last been compelled to submit to 
harness; and the martial bearing of the war horse had disap- 
peared. Her fine eyes flashed no more and the graceful curve 
was gone from her smooth neck. She appeared moody and 
sullen. The owner told me she discharged her duties without 
spirit, which was evidently true. I never saw the black beauty 
again. I did not inquire how much cruelty had been necessary 
to break her; I feared it would have been a pitiful story. I 
was glad she was not human—she could not compare her pres- 
ent condition with her proud past, when she had heard, but 
feared not, the enemy’s yell swelling from a thousand throats, 
echoed back by the wild cheer of the loyal hosts, ere the two 
sides met in deadly combat. 

The chestnut horse that had accompanied the black mare 
to our village had been an artillery horse when bought by 
Sheridan, therefore he was accustomed to harness. He proved 
to be a safe and excellent family driver; he was larger than the 
mare. His death came about in a strange way. Indeed, a 
fatality seemed to pursue all of the General’s horses except the 
famout Black Winchester. Four or five years after the war 
John L. Sheridan drove the chesnut from our town to Zanes- 
ville, about eighteen miles distant. When he had traveled 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 401 


about half the distance he unexpectedly met at a bend in the 
road the advance of a traveling menagerie, composed of some 
elephants and a group of camels. The horse had seen strange 
sights in his time, for he was not young then and could not 
have belonged to Sheridan during the war without having seen 
bloody battles; he had faced death in many fields without 
flinching or fear, as it was this horse that the General rode in 
the southwest, at the battles of Booneville and Corinth, and at 
other Mississippi actions; but it seemed to know nothing of ele- 
phants and camels and he came upon them so suddenly that 
it was a complete surprise. Every soldier knows that a sur- 
prise is demoralizing. At first sight he became excited and re- 
fused to go forward; from nervousness and absolute fright he 
had become so uncontrollable that to save the buggy from de- 
struction and possibly to save his own life Sheridan was 
obliged to turn and go back until he reached a cross road into 
which he turned, going far enough to be out of view of the 
strange sight which the horse could not understand. When the 
caravan had passed, he was driven back, to resume his course, 
still nervous and terrified, becoming almost unmanageable: 
when he reached that spot on the road whence he had first 
caught sight of the dreaded objects. Although the day was 
cool, and he was not being driven rapidly, the perspiration 
came from him almost in streams. 

When his destination was reached and he was taken to the 
stable, his appetite for food and water seemed to have failed 
him. The following morning there was no improvement, 
either in appetite or nerves. Upon his return, he was turned 
out to graze with the other horses. Naturally fond of society, 
he now seemed to avoid it, secluding himself in a distant part 
of the field. Nothing attracted his attention except, perhaps, 


402 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


a passing load of hay or covered wagon, which would startle 
him by their resemblance to the elephant. When the fright 
had passed, he would resume his dis-spirited, dejected look 
again. 

A few months after the meeting with the caravan and its 
imaginary terrors he died. John Sheridan’s theory was that 
he died of shame and disgrace; that it broke his heart when 
he discovered he had been a coward, and that existence under 
those conditions became intolerable. Life having no charms 
now, he determined to die, and succeeded by starving himself. 

The celebrated gray pacer I never saw. He was a favorite 
with General Sheridan when on long, toilsome marches ; he had 
great strength, an easy gait, and wonderful endurance. He 
was a southern horse by birth, taken from the enemy at the 
battle of Missionary Ridge, he having been ridden during that 
battle by one of General Breckenridge’s staff officers. It was 
the gray pacer’s fate to be burned to death during the great 
Chicago fire of 1871. : 

When the black horse carried Sheridan from Winchester 
to Cedar Creek on the famous ride, there was much rapid 
riding to be done in reforming the line and rallying the troops; 
to do this the General changed from the black to the gray, re- 
gardless of the old superstition that he who changes the color 
of his horse during a battle will not long survive the battle. 
This black horse I never saw after he became famous. While 
the Army of the Cumberland was in pursuit of Bragg after the 
battle of Perryville, I saw Sheridan on a fine black horse sev- 
eral times. As he had acquired no fame at that time I did not 
notice him particularly, but have no doubt it was ““Winchester.” 

It is true that the pedigree of a horse had something to 
do with the continuance of the war and the final success of the 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 403 


Union cause. Had “Winchester” been of only ordinary en- 
durance, he could not have borne the impetuous Sheridan twen- 
ty miles in continuous speed; he would have broken down. 
Had the stock been any other than Morgan, I fear the rider 
would have been at the least an hour later in his arrival. But 
the game animal was able and willing to keep up the speed 
which enabled Sheridan to arrive’in time to rally his broken, 
demoralized battalions and make his plans before Early made 
his second attack, for it will be remembered that the lines were 
barely formed when the enemy came again. Had he not been 
there sufficiently long to make these preparations, the stricken 
army would have been driven from the field and out of the 
valley—a disaster which would have compelled a change in the 
military plans, deferring the close of the war and making the 
final result doubtful. “Winchester” participated in eighty-five 
battles and skirmishes. 

“Winchester,” as he was named on his second baptism— 
his first had been “‘Rienzi’”»—was the only one of the four horses 
which escaped an unhappy end and was allowed to spend his 
superannuated days as General Sheridan had designed they all 
should, in ease and retirement. This horse partook more of the 
nature, spirit and disposition of his rider than either of the 
others; he was restless and combative. 

The following description is from General Sheridan’s 
Memoirs: 

Shortly after the Booneville affair Captain Archibald P. 
Campbell, of the Second Michigan Cavalry, presented me with 
the black horse called Rienzi, since made historical from hav- 
ing been ridden by me in many battles, conspicuously in the 
ride from Winchester to Cedar Creek, which has been cele- 
brated in the poem by T. Buchanan Read. This horse was of 


404 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


Morgan stock, and then about three years old. He was jet 
black, excepting three white feet, sixteen hands high, and 
strongly built, with great powers of endurance. He was so 
_ active that he could cover with ease five miles an hour at his 
natural walking gait. The gelding had been ridden very sel- 
dom; in fact, Campbell had been unaccustomed to riding till 
the war broke out, and, I-think, felt some disinclination to 
mount the fiery colt. Campbell had an affection for him, 
however, that never waned, and would often come to my head- 
quarters to see his favorite, the colt being cared for there by 
the regimental farrier, an old man named John Ashley, who 
had taken him in charge when leaving Michigan, and had 
been his groom ever since. Seeing that I liked the horse—I 
had ridden him on several occasions—Campbell presented him 
to me on one of these visits, and from that time till the close 
of the war I rode him almost continuously, in every campaign 
and battle in which I took part, without once finding him 
overcome by fatigue, though on many occasions his strength 
was severely tested by long marches and short rations. I 
never observed in him any vicious habit; a nervousness and 
restlessness and switching of the tail, when everything about 
him was in repose, being the only indication that he might be 
untrustworthy. No one but a novice could be deceived by this, 
however, for the intelligence evinced in every feature, and his 
thoroughbred appearance, were so striking that any person 
accustomed to horses could not misunderstand such a noble 
animal. 

When General Thomas, the hero of Chicamauga, who was 
one of the last to remain and fight the enemy, left that 
bloody field, the whole army had fallen back to Chattanooga. 
Among his regiments was the 31st Ohio, which when it went 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 405 


into battle, unslung their knapsacks and blankets and threw 
them on a pile, leaving two men to guard them. They never saw 
those blankets and knapsacks again. They went back carrying 
nothing but their arms, ammunition and empty canteens. This 
is why Sergeant George Nichols and Milton Dodd of my first 
company, when they arrived at Chattanooga, looked around to 
find a loose blanket or stray overcoat to keep themselves com- 
fortable that cool, autumnal night. Those Somerset boys held 
a consultation as to how to keep warm that night. They con- 
cluded they would go through the town and army and make a 
private reconnoissance. If they didn’t see a blanket, they might 
find something to eat in their travels. It was nearly dark when 
they passed some officers’ tents which they could distinguish 
from the others because of their size and the number of horses 
near. These horses were blanketed, but only one had a good 
covering, the others being thin and torn. They went up to 
make the acquaintance of the horse that had the best blanket. 
To their surprise, he resented all advances; he would allow no 
familiarity ; he laid back his ears and showed his teeth, looking 
a model of fury and ill-temper. He was a beautiful black, 
and the hungry, chilly boys, badly as they felt, could not but 
admire his symmetrical form. 

“Whose quarters are those?” one of them asked of a sol- 
dier not far away. 

“General Sheridan’s,” was the reply. 

There was neither time nor desire to call upon him even 
had they known him in their native village; everyone was 
feeling too blue and wretched after the defeat to be sociable. 
Besides, Phil would not have had any recollection of them, as 
they were too young when he left home to become a soldier at 
West Point. No, they did not desire to see Phil Sheridan, 


406 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


but they did want that good blanket that was on the fiery black 
horse much as they disliked to rob their townsman. However, 
they found on consulting their feelings that self-preservation 
was the first law of human nature. So they concluded to re- 
turn when it was quite dark, and, by every argument, try and ~ 
persuade the horse to surrender the blanket. 

The reader, if he has not been a soldier, might ask why 
they did not go to General Sheridan, make themselves known, 
state their condition and request the use of that blanket. This 
would have been regarded by any soldier in the nature of a 
weakness, an admission of want of fortitude. In short, it ~ 
would not look soldierly to complain of hardship or suffering. 
So the two waited until darkness set in and a heavy fog, when 
they found themselves again near the black horse that had re- 
ceived them so unkindly during the day. Then they held a 
council of war and adopted this plan: They would approach 
his head from opposite sides simultaneously; this would so 
divide his attention that they could approach and hold it firmly. 
When this was done—and it required some caution, nerve and 
strategy—the stronger man, who was Dodd, was to hold the 
head while the sergeant did the unbuckling and stripping. 

When this part of the plan was attempted, the intelligent 
animal appeared to realize their intention and commenced a 
furious fight by biting and striking at Dodd, but they were in 
desperate need of a blanket, so he held on long enough for 
the sergeant to secure it and then they made away with it on 
the run, for the enraged horse pursued them the full length of 
the rope, gnashing his teeth in anger. 

When the horse had become celebrated by so gamely carry- 
ing his rider from Winchester to Cedar Creek and turning the 
tide of battle, Nichols would laugh and tell what a mean trick 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 407 


he had played and how glad he was that the rope did not break 
when the horse made the vicious charge after them when they 
ran with his blanket. 

Finally, on a beautiful April morning in 1865, as the sun 
rose over the hills and vales of a region that had never yet felt 
the cruel footfall of war, Sheridan’s cavalry swung into line 
for the last charge. The sound of those horses’ hoofs on the 
road beyond Gordon’s advance was the final menace to the ex- 
piring Confederacy. 

The night of the 8th of April closed upon a day of hard 
work and exciting events. By a forced and rapid march Sheri- 
dan had thrust his cavalry in front of the retreating Confeder- 
ate army. The night before the surrender, Custer had envel- 
oped Appomattox Station, capturing three heavily laden rail- 
way trains of supplies, twenty-five pieces of artillery, 200 wag- 
ons, and many prisoners. After this stroke the cavalrymen 
stood to horse all night. The gray of the morning was just 
yielding to the stronger light of full day when they were or- 
dered to move forward. As they emerged from the woods and 
advanced upon the plains beyond, they could see the army of 
Lee cut off from further retreat. It was a sight at once grand 
and thrilling when the horsemen moved forward to the final 
attack. Gordon made an attempt to destroy the line of cav- 
alry which appeared with sabres glistening in the spring sun, 
the trophies of war mingling with battle-flags of the Union 
commander. Behind Sheridan’s cavalry long lines of infantry 
under Ord, Griffin, and Gibbon, were waiting to gather the 
sheaves of war which Sheridan’s troopers had secured. The 
last fight was a short one, and the white flag of truce from 
Gordon’s headquarters announced the final surrender. Sheri- 
dan rode into the Confederate lines to receive the praises of 


408 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


his chief and the applause of his country for his brilliant work. 
It was a fitting end to the closing hours of the great struggle, 
that his fame as a soldier should be completed only with the 
final breaking up, which his generalship and energy had done 
so much to hasten. 

The story of so dashing and brilliant a life cannot be easily 
told. But it is well before leaving this thread of his military 
life to observe the elements of mind and character which have 
combined to produce a soldier whose fame has reached far be- 
yond the limits of his own country, and of whom Grant once 
said: “No better general ever lived.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


PHIL SHERIDAN AT SHORT RANGE—BY COLONEL 
JOHN SCHUYLER CROSBY. 


: HEN Colonel Crosby was requested to describe that 
\/ phase of Sheridan’s character which is of peculiar 
interest to the public, he replied quickly : 

“There is no phase of his character which is not of pecu- 
liar interest to the public. Sheridan had all the attributes of 
a soldier; genius of mind and character, physique, and forti- 
tude. He was courageous even to fearlessness. Born a sol- 
dier, during all the many years of his active army life he de- 
voted his energies to the best interests of the service. 

“Some men have well-rounded characters and can succeed 
at almost anything, but Sheridan was simply a soldier, and 
that was all he considered himself. He had but one purpose, 
the same that has characterized so many American soldiers— 
that of doing his duty. In this respect he was wholly consist- 
ent, expecting neither promotion nor praise for performing 
what he considered a sacred obligation to the government. 
Neither would he recommend a man to the War Department 
for promotion for doing what he was ordered to do, a sol- 
dier’s duty. What a contrast to the wholesale recommenda- 
tions for brevets made by many of the generals and com- 
manding officers for service in the late engagements and skir- 
mishes about Santiago! 

“It was inconceivable to him that a man should expect 
any reward for performing the service required of him. Cour- 
age he expected of every man, and it was the exception when 

409 


AIO GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


his judgmnt erred in this respect. He expected those about 
him to be ready for duty at all hours, should their services be 
needed. 

“If an officer or soldier performed any creditable duty he 
would have to depend upon his own conscience for his reward, 
for Sheridan rarely expressed any strong approval other than 
a quiet smile and pleased expression, which showed his ap- 
preciation of what was going on; but when the opportunity 
occurred later Sheridan always remembered that officer by 
recommending him for promotion where his qualifications 
could be utilized to the best advantage. The General was ex- 
plicit in his verbal instructions to his staff officers, and re- 
posed confidence in their judgment and opinions only after 
many severe trials. When once gained, however, his faith 
was implicit.” 

“What of Sheridan’s disposition?’ I asked the Colonel. 
“Had he a quick temper?” 

“He had the temper of a robust man,” replied Colonel 
Crosby, “but always kept it under control. He had the force 


’ 


of a giant and the tenderness of a woman. He was not pro- 
fane, and the stories of his terrible oaths are in most cases ab- 
solutely groundless, and in others outrageous exaggerations. 
He rarely used an oath, though at times I have heard him 
swear when his temper was aroused by conditions which 
would have provoked a saint. Both in the field and at his 
desk, when annoyed or troubled by matters not going as he 
had directed and looked for, he would knit his brows and 
close his upper teeth down upon the right side of his mus- 
tache and lip. ; 

“At such times it was just as well to keep at ‘attention’ 
and await his orders, or allow him to open the conversation. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND AII 


Sheridan’s voice was in general conversation low and sweet, 
though when excited he would pitch it for a moment to a 
high but not disagreeable key. 

“In conversation he was incisive and clear—in fact, quite 
epigrammatic—and possessed of a remarkable power of de- 
scription; yet it was difficult for him to express his thoughts 
to, his own satisfaction in writing.” 

“Was Sheridan witty?’ I asked. 

“Yes, he had all the wit of the Irish. He appreciated a 
good yarn, and was fond of a song, although he himself did 
not sing, having no voice; but he would not tolerate a vulgar 
story. 

“While Sheridan’s temper made it advisable at times not 
to intrude upon him, he never remained angry long. He was 
never moody or blue, though often, during critical periods, 
he was serious and silent almost to the point of taciturnity. 
His natural optimism was the General’s chief support on many 
an occasion. 

“Few people realize the hardships encountered by Sheri- 
dan and his small command during his active campaigns 
against the Sioux, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, and Co- 
manches in 1867-’69, in which he commanded in person. 

“Previously to Sheridan’s taking command all the cam- 
paigns against the Indians had been conducted in summer, 
when the redskins had the soldiers at a great disadvantage, as 
their ponies were fat and strong and could move with great 
celerity. The General recognized this, and determined to 
change the tactics which his predecessors had employed. He 
resolved to attack the Indians at a time when their horses 
were thin and weak, and their families could not be moved 
through the snows; consequently the results of his campaigns 


412 GENERAL Putt H. SHERIDAN 


were eminently successful. But such work, of course, en- 
tailed great suffering on the soldiers from hunger and ex- 
posure. 

“On prolonged marches through deep snows, and often 
in the face of death-dealing blizzards, Sheridan never lost his 
nerve. He would always share the hardships with his men, 
and demand nothing more for himself than the humblest pri- 
vate received. He was always cheerful; and, although we 
often marched through heavy snows, with the mercury below 
zero, I have never heard him utter a complaining word. He 
showed great sympathy and concern for the officers and men 
about him, who were pursuing and fighting Indians five or 
six times greater in number than his own command. He was 
particularly concerned about the pack animals and officers’ 
horses, which, having no fodder, were often compelled to live 
on cottonwood bark, which they stripped from the trees with 
their teeth, as a schoolboy does the bark of a birch tree. 

“During one of these winter campaigns a courier reached 
Sheridan. A halt had been called for lunch, and the General 
was standing in the snow, making a frugal meal of hardtack 
and bacon. The dispatch handed him was from General 
Grant, announcing to Sheridan his nomination and confirma- 
tion as Lieutenant General of the army. When he read the 
news to us his face flushed with pleasure, and everybody in 
our little group threw his hat high into the air; and as soon 
as the news was conveyed to the rest of the command, cheer 
after cheer could be heard through the frosty air. After a : 
few moments Sheridan said: ‘Gentlemen, I’ve a confession 
to make. None of us has had a drink for over six weeks, 
and yet I’ve had a bottle of whisky hidden away in my saddle- 
bags all this time, which I’ve been keeping for an emergency. 


WERE OB THE BE 
pOTOMAL WULITARY 


SHERIDAN GATE, ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY 
The Gate was Built in 1879 


“ 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 413 


I think that this occasion justifies the breaking of the bottle.’ 
But there wasn’t much more than a swallow apiece as we 
drank to the General’s well-earned promotion.” 

“Was Sheridan a drinking man?” I asked Colonel Crosby, 

“T think,” he replied, “that a drinking man would not 
have kept an unbroken bottle of whisky in his saddlebags for 
a whole month. No! [most emphatically] No! he was not 
a drinking man. There seems to be a proneness among people 
to ascribe to prominent men all sorts of vices, generous and 
otherwise; and many persons seem to have the idea that Sher- 
idan was a hard drinker. On the contrary, in the five years 
I was on his staff, both in the field and traveling under cir- 
cumstances of great physical and mental fatigue and worry, 
I never saw him under the influence of liquor in the slightest 
degree. 

“He rarely drank when alone, and neither at the table nor 
in company did he ever indulge to excess. During the last 
two years of his life he suffered greatly from stomach trouble, 
and any vigorous exercise would weaken him; but even then 
his drinking was moderate. The General was often mis- 
judged in regard to this habit, owing to his high color and 
often flushed face. But the secret of that was an abnormally 
high pulse, which beat from fifteen to twenty more strokes to 
the minute than that of the ordinary man. 

“In other respects, also, Sheridan was markedly different, 
physically, from other men. His face was most expressive. 
He had arched, heavy eyebrows, from underneath which 
large, piercing black eyes looked out at you. One could tell 
from his eyes in a moment whether he was fiercely angry or 
only indignant; whether he was serious, sad, or humorous, 
without noticing another feature of his face. I never saw 


414 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


eyes which showed so many shades of feeling as those of Phil 
Sheridan. His mouth was firm and his chin square and ag- 
gressive. He had a bullet-shaped head and medium-sized 
ears, behind each of which there was a peculiar development 
which gave him the appearance of having great force of 
character. 

“His shoulders were broad and his chest deep; he had long 
arms and large hands, while his legs were short and his feet 
small. Although he was but five feet six inches in height, 
still the great length of his body made him look over six feet 
when in the saddle. 

“Sheridan’s most distinguishing traits, apart from his mil- 
itary genius, patriotism, and love for his family, were un- 
yielding loyalty to his friends and considerateness for dumb 
animals. 

“As I said before, Sheridan was particularly loyal in his 
nature and was especially attached to the men he knew in his 
early days before he came into prominence. He was fond of 
Colonel Lawrence Kip and of both the Forsythes, also of Gen- 
eral Fitzhugh, Colonel Newhall, and Dr. Morris J. Asch, now 
of New York, and in after years he always spoke of them with 
great affection. He had a strong regard for Grant personally 
and a most exalted faith in the military skill of that great 
leader. 

“T’ve often heard him say that General Wesley Merritt 
was one of the best officers he had ever had under his com- 
mand, and that he had great confidence in his judgment, skill 
and persistence under any conditions requiring the exercise 
of those qualities. The General would never allow anybody 
to speak disparagingly of one of his friends. If such a thing 
were attempted, no matter by whom, he would diplomatically 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 415 


change the subject; but if the offense were persisted in, he 
would say, ‘I’ve shown you that the person is a friend of mine 
and I will not permit you to talk against him.’ 

“T once essayed to compliment him upon the possession of 
this trait in so extreme a degree, and he seemed surprised 
that I should have noticed it at all. ‘A man doesn’t make 
friends lightly,’ he said, ‘and when he does he must stand by 
them for better or worse. I certainly should expect my 
friends to do as much for me.’ Apart from friendships of 
his own, the habit of backbiting was one for which he had an 
absolute detestation. He used to say, “A man who speaks 
well of others speaks well of himself.’ He made few inti- 
mate friends, but he regarded his staff officers a part not only 
of his official household but of his personal family as well. 
When the war was over and he was placed in command of a 
large military department he was always easily accessible to 
every one, although he would brusquely dismiss anybody who 
sought to use him for personal ends, and he was remarkably 
quick at detecting such a motive, no matter how adroitly it 
might be veiled.” 


FUNERAL OF GENERAL SHERIDAN—ELOQUENT TRIBUTE FROM 
HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL GIBBONS. 


The remains of General Philip H. Sheridan were buried 
August 11, 1888, with all the pomp and circumstance of a 
military funeral. The day was one of extreme quiet. The 
Capitol was deserted, the departments were all closed, and 
every wonted occupation was suspended. At the entrance to 
the church were a number of military officers who acted as 
ushers and seated the guests as fast as they arrived. Among 
the most prominent to arrive first was Secretary Fairchild, 


416 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


who was escorted to a seat near the front. A few minutes 
later Secretary Vilas and Postmaster-General Dickinson ar- 
rived. Secretary Endicott and General Sherman came in a 
few minutes later and were seated to the left-hand side aisle. 
At 9:45 Mrs. Sheridan, leaning on the arm of Colonel Sher- 
idan and preceded by Captain Lawton as usher, appeared and 
were shown seats in chairs placed in front of the first pew. 
Mr. John Sheridan followed, accompanied by two ladies of 
the family. General and Mrs. Rucker, the parents of Mrs. 
Sheridan, came next and were ushered to seats immediately 
behind Mrs. Sheridan. 

The personal staff of General Sheridan and the physicians 
who attended him during his illness occupied pews in the rear 
of the relatives. President Cleveland and wife, accompanied 
by Mrs. Folsom, occupied seats in front. 

To the right of the main aisle were seated the members of 
the diplomatic corps in the city. They were dressed princi- 
pally in black dress suits, but the representatives of Corea 
wore their highly conspicuous uniforms, as did the Turkish 
representatives. 

About 200 army officers of varying rank, dressed in their 
bright uniforms, were present. Many of these wore medals 
of honor and special decorations. The judiciary was repre- 
sented by Justice Harlan and Solicitor-General Jenks, while 
Speaker Carlisle, Senators Ingalls, Evarts, Allison, Blackburn, 
Paddock, Edmunds, Chandler and Representatives Stahl- 
necker and Mahoney represented Congress. 

Promptly at 9:50 the Rev. Father Mackin, celebrant, and 
Fathers Kervick and Ryan as deacons, preceded by a number 
of altar boys and acolytes, forming a procession, emerged 
from the sacristy and began the Requiem Mass for the dead. 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 417 


Cardinal Gibbons occupied a throne to the left of the altar. 
The service was most solemn and impressive. The choir sang 
Schmidt’s Mass. At the Offertory the hymn “O! Christi Sal- 
vator Mundt’ was sung with great effect. 

At the conclusion of the Mass, His Eminence Cardinal 
Gibbons ascended the pulpit and delivered the closing funeral 
address. He said: 

“*And Jonathan and Simon took Judas, their brother, and 
buried him in the sepulchre of their fathers, in the city of 
Modin. And all the people of Israel bewailed him with great 
lamentation, and they mourned him for many days, and said: 
How is the mighty fallen that saved the people of Israel. 
I, Mac, ix., 19-21.’ 

“Well might the children of Israel bewail their great Cap- 
tain, who led them so often to battle and victory. And well 
may this nation grieve for the loss of the mighty chieftain 
whose mortal remains now lie before us. In every village and 
town of the country from the Atlantic to the Pacific his name 
is uttered with sorrow and his great deeds recorded with 
admiration. 

“There is one consoling feature that distinguishes the ob- 
sequies of our illustrious hero from those of the great Hebrew 
leader. He was buried in the midst of war, amid the clash- 
ing of arms, and surrounded by the armed hosts of the enemy. 
Our Captain, thank God, 1s buried amid profound peace, while 
we are enjoying the blessings of domestic tranquillity and are 
in friendship with all the world. The death of General Sher- 
idan will be lamented not only by the North, but also by the 
South. I know the Southern people. I know their chivalry, 
I know their magnanimity, their warm and affectionate na- 
ture; and I am sure that the sons of the South, especially those 


418 GENERAL PHIL H. SHERIDAN 


who fought in the late war, will join in the general lamenta- 
tion and will lay a garland of mourning on the bier of the great 
General. They recognize the fact that the nation’s General 
is dead and that his death is the nation’s loss. 

“And this universal sympathy, coming from all sections 
of the country, irrespective of party lines, is easily accounted 
for when we consider that under an overruling Providence 
the war, in which General Sheridan took so conspicuous a 
part, has resulted in increased blessings to every State of our 
common country. 

“Let me select an incident which reveals to us his quick- 
ness of conception and readiness of execution. I refer to his 
famous ride in the Valley of Virginia. As he is advancing 
along the road he sees his routed army rushing pell mell to- 
ward him. Quick as thought—by the glance of his eye, by 
the power of his word, the strength of his will, he hurls back 
that living stream on the enemy, and snatches victory from 
the jaws of defeat. 

“How bold in war, how gentle in peace! On some few 
occasions in Washington I had the pleasure of meeting Gen- 
eral Sheridan socially in private circles. JI was forcibly struck 
by his gentle disposition, his amiable manner, his unassuming 
deportment, his eye beaming with good nature, and his voice 
scarcely raised above a whisper. I said to myself: ‘Is this 
bashful man and retiring citizen the great General of the 
American army? Is this the hero of so many battles?” 

“Tt is true General Sheridan has been charged with being 
sometimes unnecessarily severe toward the enemy. My con- 
versations with him strongly impressed me with the ground- 
lessness of a charge which could in nowise be reconciled with 
the abhorrence which he expressed for the atrocities of war, 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 419 


with his natural aversion to bloodshed, and with the hope he 
uttered that he would never again be obliged to draw his sword 
against an enemy. Iam persuaded that the sentiments of hu- 
manity ever found a congenial home, a secure lodging in the 
breast of General Sheridan. 

“Those who are best acquainted with his military career 
unite in saying that he never needlessly sacrificed human life, 
and that he loved and cared for his soldiers as a father loves 
and cares for his children. But we must not forget that if 
the departed hero was a soldier, he was, too, a citizen; and if 
we wish to know how a man stands as a citizen we must ask 
ourselves how he stands as a son, a husband and father. The 
parent is the source of the family, the family is the source of 
the nation. 

“Social life is the reflex of the family life. The stream 
does not rise above its source. Those who were admitted into 
the inner circle of General Sheridan’s home need not be told 
that it was a peaceful and happy one. He was a fond hus- 
band and affectionate father, lovingly devoted to his wife and 
children. I hope I am not trespassing upon the sacred pri- 
vacy of domestic life when I state that the General’s sickness 
was accelerated, if not aggravated, by a fatiguing journey 
which he made in order to he home in time to assist at a do- 
mestic celebration in which one of his children was the central 
figure. 

“Above all General Sheridan was_a Christian. He died 
fortified by the consolations of religion, having his trust in 
the saving mercies of a Redeemer and an humble hope in a 
blessed immortality. What is life without the hope of immor- 
tality? What is life that is bounded by the horizon of the 
tomb? Surely it is not worth the living. What is the life 


420 GENERAL PHit H. SHERIDAN 


even of the antediluvian patriarchs but like the mist which is 
dispelled by the morning sun? What would it profit this 
illustrious hero to go down to his honored grave covered with 
earthly glory, if he had no hope in the eternal glory to come? 
“Tt is the hope of eternal life that constitutes at once our 
dignity and our moral responsibility. God has planted in the 
human breast an irresistible desire for immortality. It is born 
with us and lives and moves with us. It inspires our best and 
holiest actions. Now, God would not have given us this de- 
sire if He did not intend that it should-be fully satisfied. He 
would not have given us this thirst for infinite happiness if He 
had not intended to assuage it. He never created anything 
in vain. 
“Thanks to God, this universal yearning of the human 
heart is sanctioned and vindicated by the voice of Revelation. 
“The inspired word not only proclaims the immortality 
of the soul, but also the future resurrection of the body. ‘I 
know,’ says the Prophet Job, ‘that my Redeemer liveth, and 
that on the last day I shall rise out of the earth and in my 
flesh I shall see my God.’ 
“*Wonder not at this, says our Saviour, ‘for the hour 
cometh when all that are in their graves shall hear the voice 
of the Son of Man, and they who have done well shall come 
forth to the resurrection of life, and they who have done ill, 
to the resurrection of judgment.’ And the Apostle writes 
these comforting words to the Thessalonians: ‘I would not 
have ye ignorant, brethren, concerning those that are asleep, 
that ye be not sorrowful, like those who have no hope; for if 
we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so those who 
have died in Jesus God will rise unto Himself. Therefore 
comfort yourselves with these words.’ These are the words — 


PLAYMATE—COMRADE—FRIEND 421 


of comfort I would address to you, madam, faithful consort 
of the illustrious dead. This is the olive branch of peace and 
hope I would bring to you today. 

“This is the silver lining of the cloud which hangs over 
you. We followed you in spirit and with sympathizing hearts 
as you knelt at the bed of your dying husband. May the God 
of all consolation comfort you in this hour of sorrow. May 
the soul of your husband be this day in peace and his abode 
in Zion; may his memory be ever enshrined in the hearts of 
his countrymen; and may our beloved country, which he has 
loved and served so well, be among the foremost nations of the 
earth, the favored land of constitutional freedom, strong in the 
loyalty of its patriotic citizens, and in the genius and valor of 
its soldiers, until time shall be no more. 

“Comrades and companions of the illustrious dead, take 
hence your great leader; bear him to his last resting place; 
carry him gently, lovingly; and though you may not hope to 
attain his exalted rank, you will strive at least to emulate him 
by the integrity of your private life, by your devotion to your 
country, and by upholding the honor of your military profes- 
sion.” 

The Cardinal’s allusion to the personal life of General 
Sheridan brought tears into the eyes of many, and even old 
weather-beaten veterans seemed to be affected. 

After the closing prayers the casket was placed on the 
shoulders of the eight sergeants from Troop B, and was con- 
veyed to the caisson at the door of the church. 

Following came the pallbearers: General Wesley Mer- 
ritt, George W. Childs of Philadelphia, Marshal Field of Chi- 
cago, General Joseph S. Fullerton of St. Louis, Secretaries 
Whitney and Endicott, General Augur, Senator Hawley, 


422 GENERAL Pui H. SHERIDAN 


Speaker Carlisle, Colonel Charles P. Lincoln, and General 
McFeely. 

Then followed Mrs. Sheridan and Colonel Sheridan, mem- 
bers of the family, General Sheridan’s staff, his late physi- 
cians, the President, Mrs. Cleveland and Mrs. Folsom and 
the members of the Cabinet, the Senate and House Commit- 
tees, the Diplomatic Corps, the Loyal Legion, army and navy 
officers, the judiciary and the invited guests. 

Drawn up in line in front of the church was the military 
procession. The procession, under command of Colonel Gib- 
son, then moved to Arlington cemetery, where the remains of 
General Sheridan were laid to rest. Seventeen guns were 
fired in honor of his rank. Three volleys of musketry fol- 
lowed, closing with taps on the bugle, and the crowd returned 
to Washington. : 


MONUMENT OVER GRAVE OF GENERAL PHIL. SHERIDAN 
Arlington National Cemetery 


STATUE OF GENERAL SHERIDAN UNVEILED, DEDICATED BY 
PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT. HIGH TRIBUTES PAID HERO. 


The splendid military achievement of General Philip H. 
Sheridan, whose famous ride was one of the notable incidents 
of the civil war, was celebrated at the national capital, Wash- 
ington, D. C., Nov. 20, 1908. A heroic equestrian statue of 
the gallant soldier was unveiled. The nation’s tribute was 
paid in the festivities of the day and was spoken by President 
Roosevelt, Brigadier General Horace Porter and Luke R. 
Wright, Secretary of War, who delivered glowing eulogies 
of the famous soldier. 

The parade of troops, under command of Major General 
Franklin Bell, was reviewed by the President and a large 
assemblage, representing the diplomatic corps, army and navy, 
and veterans of the civil and Spanish wars, Secretary Wright 
of the War Department presided over the ceremonies. Rt. 
Rev. P. J. O'Connell, rector of the Catholic University of 
America, delivered the invocation. 

Mrs. Sheridan, the widow of General Sheridan, removed 
the covering which gave the assemblage the first view of the 
beautiful statue. She was attended by her son, Lieutenant 
Philip H. Sheridan. 

The statue, which was unveiled amid military pomp and 
splendor, is the work of Gutzon Borglum. It shows General 
Sheridan on horseback, his steed in action, representing the 
occasion on which he returned to the field at the battle of 
Cedar Creek waving his hat in his hand and shouting to the 
men to turn back. It is one and three-quarters times life size, 
and is said to contain more molten brass than was ever before 
cast in one piece in this country. It is twelve feet long and 
eight feet wide and the entire piece is fourteen feet in height. 
The sum of $50,000 was appropriated by congress for the 
statue. It is located in Sheridan Square, in the residential 
section of the city. 

The military parade was headed by General J. Franklin 
Bell, chief of staff of the army. The Thirteenth Cavalry, 


three batteries cf field artillery, four batteries of coast ar- 
tillery, the Fifteenth Cavalry, four companies of marines and 
two companies of blue jackets were in line. The United 
States Marine Band rendered appropriate music. The second 
division consisted of the District of Columbia militia, headed 
by the Engineers’ Band. The third division was composed of 
the veteran societies of the Army of the Potomac, of the Cum- 
berland, the Tennessee and Ohio, whose members served 
under General Sheridan. 

President Roosevelt’s address was short and told of the 
valiant deeds of the hero whose statué was unveiled. He said 
in part: 

“It is eminently fitting that the nation’s illustrous men, 
the men who loom as heroes before the eyes of our people, 
should be fittingly commemorated here at the national capital, 
and I am glad, indeed, to take part in the unveiling of this 
statue to General Sheridan. His name will always stand high 
on the list of American worthies. 

“We tend to think of him only as the dashing cavalry 
leader, whereas he was in reality not only that, but also a 
great commander. Of course, the fact in his career most 
readily recognized was his mastery in the necessarily modern 
art of handling masses of modern cavalry so as to give them 
the fullest possible effect. But in addition he showed in the 
civil war that he was a first-class army commander, both as a 
subordinate of Grant and also in independent command. 

“His career was typically American, for from plain be- 
ginnings he rose to the highest military position in our land. 
His career symbolizes the careers of all those men who, in the 
years of the nation’s direst need, sprang to the front to risk 
everything, even life itself, in valorous conflict for an ideal. 

“Dreadful was the suffering, dreadful the loss of the civil 
war. Yet it stands alone among wars in this—that, now 
that the wounds are healed, the memory of the mighty deeds 
of valor performed on one side no less than on the other has 
become the common heritage of all our people in every quar- 
ter of this country. 

“We meet together to raise a monument to the great 
Union general, in the presence of many of the survivors of . 
the Union army; and the Secretary of War, the man at the 

2 


head of the army, who, by virtue of his office, occupies a spe- 
cial relation to this celebration, is himself a man who fought in 
the Confederate service. Few, indeed, have been the countries 
where such a conjunction would have been possible. 

“We should keep steadily before our minds the fact that 
Americanism is a question of principle, of purpose, of idealism, 
of character; that it is not a matter of birthplace, or creed, or 
line of descent. We of this generation have our own problems 
to solve and the condition of our solving them is that we 
must all work together as American citizens. Mighty is the 
heritage we have received from the men of mighty days. We 
must gird up our loins to meet the new issues with the same 
stern courage which marked our fathers who belonged to the 
generation of the man in whose honor we commemorate this 
monument today.” 

Brigadier General Porter reviewed the career of General 
Sheridan at length, telling of the incidents of his boyhood, his 
appointment as a cadet at West Point, his early Indian cam- 
paigns, his continual and merited promotions in the civil war 
and the final campaign with an army of cavalry that turned 
the tide of war. 

“Much as I admired his marvelous soldierly qualities on 
other fields of battle,’”’ General Porter continued, “I felt that I 
had never measured the true scope of his matchless genius 
until that memorable day at Five Forks. I spoke to him of 
his attitude in battle, and he replied: ‘I have never in my life 
taken a command into battle and had the slightest desire to 
come out alive unless I won.’ 

“General Sheridan showed himself possessed of the high- 
est characteristics of the soldier. Bold in conception, self- 
reliant, demonstrating by his acts that much danger makes 
great hearts most resolute. The hearts of men warmed to him 
with the glow of abiding affection. The inspiration of his 
example roused them to deeds of individual heroism. 

“Sheridan’s sword always pointed the way to an advance; 
its hilt was never presented to the enemy. Under his guid- 
ance the flag of his country was never once dethroned from its 
proud supremacy. He was never defeated. He loved brave 
men and despised dastards. He did not believe that the Lord 
ever intended his deeds to be made manifest by cowards.” 

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